


Built This Bed For Me and You

by vinoharry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Kid Fic, M/M, Minor Anxiety, Past Nick Grimshaw/Harry Styles, Retrograde Amnesia, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-03
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-07 12:37:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 66,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4263519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vinoharry/pseuds/vinoharry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So what is today’s date then? In full please.”<br/>“February 11th, 2013. I just turned nineteen.”<br/>Dr. Carlton’s face clouds over. He becomes unreadable, professional. “I’m right, right? I’m nineteen.”<br/>“You’re – that’s not quite right Harry,” Dr. Carlton says carefully.</p><p>or, Harry has retrograde amnesia and can’t remember the last six years of his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've always wanted to dabble in a memory loss fic, so here it is!  
> Title from [Life Support by Sam Smith](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z6bKsha9kEg).

Harry wakes up freezing. He’s cold and the blanket against his naked legs feels like cheap polyester instead of the Egyptian cotton sheets Nick insists on buying. They’re expensive as hell and Harry had laughed when he learned the count. Harry was ultimately proven wrong once he was spread out on top of the expensive sheets, with Nick hovering above him. Right now, Harry’s on his back, which isn’t completely unusual, but there’s also the presence of Nick’s hands or mouth touching him. In actuality, he’s lying like a corpse instead of being touched by Nick.

His head feels like he’s been pounding it against a wall and there’s an awful beeping sound that just won’t seem to stop. It doesn’t sound like Nick’s usual alarm tone. His head hurts much worse than his standard hangover. Harry blinks awake, past the soreness in his eyes. He turns his head slightly to the left, towards that god-awful beeping, and is met with a heart monitor. He tries to sit up as his eyes scan the room and take in his surroundings. He’s definitely not in Nick’s room. He’s definitely in a hospital room. Alone, in a hospital room. Where’s Nick? Where’s his family? Where are the doctors or nurses? In television shows, they always show the patient’s loved ones at their bedside, desperately clutching their hand and bursting into tears when they blink awake.

A lightening sharp pain shoots up Harry’s ribs as he attempts to sit up straight in the bed to inspect himself. In the split second that he manages to keep his eyes open, he sees there’s an IV drop taped to his hand as well as an ankle brace on his left foot. His head suddenly feels as if it’s filled with lead and his eyelids feel heavy. The room is silent aside from that eerie beep of the heart monitor as Harry closes his eyes.

~

Distantly, Harry can hear talking. It’s a low hum that rouses him from his sleep.

“Mum?” Harry croaks. He wills his eyes open, but they stay shut. His head is pounding even worse than before, insistently keeping him locked in place. He tries to wiggle his fingers and then there’s a sweaty hand holding his. It’s smooth; nothing at all like the rough palm of Nick’s hand. That may just be the sweat though. “Nick,” Harry says around an attempted smile.

It’s physically painful for him to talk around the scratch in his throat. It’s like his throat has been roughed up by a chainsaw. It’s worth it though, for the squeeze Nick gives his hand. Harry settles into the bed, content to be safe with Nick.

~

Harry’s eyes open with ease this time. The room’s darkened naturally, the only light being that of the fluorescent lights built into the tiles of the ceiling. There are no other patients sharing the room with him and Harry is able to process what’s happening outside of the room with less of an effort. He can hear people whispering loudly right outside of his room along with the persistent beeping of the monitor. At least his heart is working fine.

A nurse in pastel green scrubs sweeps into the room smiling at him sweetly. “Hello, sleepyhead.” The woman has a kind smile and soft eyes. She’s most likely his mum’s age as she has slight wrinkles and crows feet. She grabs the clipboard at the foot of the bed before standing closer to him.

Harry swallows thickly before wetting his lips with his tongue. “Hello.”

“Can you tell me your name?”

“Harry Styles.”

The nurse frowns sympathetically. Harry feels tired and groggy.

“And do you know where you are Harry?”

“A hospital?”

“You’re at St. George's University Hospital. Do you know why?”

Harry blinks. He’s so tired. His head is still killing him and his chest aches. He doesn’t want to answer questions, he just wants to sleep.

He can’t think of a reason he should be in the hospital. He had a shift at the bakery this morning and he’s got a long night of studying once he’s out of here for his –

“Test!” Harry blurts, trying to sit up straight. There’s a strap across his chest that doesn’t allow him to do anything other than jerk. The panic for his test overbears the flash of pain jolting up his spine, but still he continues to struggle. “I’ve got, I’ve got my accounting exam Thursday! I can’t – I have to go, I have to – I have to _study_.”

The nurse frowns at Harry. It’s nothing too deep, but she does look worried for him. Harry opens his mouth to protest to being strapped in his bed when the nurse cuts him off. “Don’t worry about your test right now, okay? Let me get your doctor. I’ll be back in a tick.”

Harry huffs, listening to the heart monitor’s beep quicken and he tries to get it to slow down.. He mentally goes over what an audit is. A systemic examination of accounts, documents, and… shit. Shit, he can’t remember. What if he can’t remember and he fails his test? What if he fails the course and has to drop out of school? How is he supposed to become an accountant if he fails uni?

The beeps pick up, ringing in Harry’s ears.

His doctor enters the room, the nurse from before trailing behind him.

“Alright Harry, I’m glad to see you’re awake.”

Harry shifts, feeling the ache in his ribcage. “I have to pass the test.”

“It’s not a test,” the doctor says not unkindly as he assesses Harry. “I’m just going to ask you some questions and you answer them honestly.”

“No,” Harry shakes his head. “My _accounting_ test. It’s on Thursday. On the basics of auditing.”

“Oh.” The doctor glances at the nurse. She clicks her pen and scribbles something down. “How about we just focus on the questions I have for you? I’m Dr. Carlton. You can call me Andrew if that makes you more comfortable.”

“Okay.”

“And this is your night nurse, Bettina. Your day nurse is Olive and she’ll be here tomorrow morning.” Dr. Carlton pulls up a chair and sits close to Harry. “Alright Harry. You said your test is on Thursday. What day is Thursday?”

“The fourteenth,” Harry answers confidently. “It’s Valentine’s Day, Nick and I are going out for dinner after.”

“Alright. Let’s start with some easier ones.” Harry screws up his eyebrows. His right one is less inclined to move, a bandage over the eyebrow keeps it in place. “Can you tell me your full name please?”

“Harry Edward Styles.”

Dr. Carlton glances at Bettina who jots something down on his clipboard. “And your birthday?”

“The 1st of February, 1994.”

Harry glances at the door.

All of a sudden Harry feels five again. He’s insecure and uncertain. He wants his mum or Gemma or someone to come hold his hand and tell him that everything is going to be alright. He’s transported back to the first day of primary where he’s clutching his mum’s thigh and crying into her skirt, wetting the soft pink fabric. He wants to cling to her and hide from anyone that could judge him, hurt him, or make fun of his action figures. He remembers the way she had given him a little shove towards the other children, brushing her blazer off and talking to the woman next to her.

“Harry, what month is it?”

“February?”

“So what is today’s date then? In full please.”

“Um, can I have a sip of water?” Bettina darts to get the cup of water on his nightstand. It’s by a beautiful bouquet of flowers and a card that says ‘get well soon’ written in a messy, sparkly, scribble. Must be Lux then, Harry can’t wait to see her.

After gently sucking on the straw, Harry has his answer. “February 11th, 2013. I just turned nineteen.”

Dr. Carlton’s face clouds over. He becomes unreadable, professional. “I’m right, right? I’m nineteen.”

“You’re – that’s not quite right Harry,” Dr. Carlton says carefully.

“I – what? How long have I been in here for?”

When Dr. Carlton, once again, exchanges a wary look with Bettina, Harry begins to panic.

“I want to see Nick,” Harry says hysterically. “I want to see him. Let me see my fiancé!”

“Harry, take a deep breath.” Dr. Carlton rests a gentle hand on Harry’s shoulder. Harry knows something’s wrong.

He glances at his left hand to where Nick’s cheap pink ring should sit. It was a prize in a children’s cereal box and Nick had given it to him a month ago after they fucked on the table and were recharging with a snack. The ring sitting there now is much nicer. It’s silver and thick; a brick print in the middle and tiny diamonds on both sides of the band. It’s absolutely gorgeous and looks amazing on his finger. Nick must have spent a bloody fortune on it.

“Is Nick alive? Oh God, is he dead?”

“No. No one else was with you when you were injured.” Dr. Carlton says. He looks to the chart. “It’s the 4th of April, 2019 Harry. You’re twenty-five.”

“Twenty-five? I – have I been in a coma that long?”

“You’ve been in the hospital for almost two days. Do you remember your accident?”

Harry racks his brain, but all he can think of is work and university and long nights with Nick. He turns his head to the left, heavy on his neck. His eyes blink shut. Nothing comes to him.

“You were in an accident. You were riding your bike and were hit by a vehicle around four pm on Tuesday the 2nd. You were unconscious when the ambulance arrived on the scene and were put into a medically induced coma to stop the rapid swelling. You were lucky though, you only have two bruised ribs, a second-degree sprain on your left ankle, and a cut eyebrow that we had to stitch up.”

“But I can’t remember.”

“I know. We’re going to do some more tests in about an hour. You should sleep until then.”

“Nick.”

Dr. Carlton fiddles with his clipboard. He adds the piece of paper Bettina has to his own and tucks the pen in the holder. “You’ve got a lot of concerned people waiting to see you, but you need some more rest.”

“I-” Harry can’t argue with that really. There’s a sharp pain in ankle when he tries to move his foot. His head aches again.

“Just rest. Everyone will still be here when you wake up.”

Dr. Carlton leaves after that.

Harry tries to process everything. He’s twenty-five, he has no idea what he looks like, he’s clearly married to Nick, and he was hit by a car. He was hit by a car, he’s twenty-five. He’s twenty-five and he’s married to Nick.

His mind wanders to what his friends are doing, how his mum is and if Gemma’s still got bright pink hair. He tries to picture his life, perfect and with Nick. Maybe he’s a big shot accountant with Nick as an investment broker like he always planned.

Before he can get too lost in hypotheses, he falls asleep.

~

Bettina wakes Harry up twice more to ask for his name, age, and if he knows why he’s in the hospital. He passes with flying colours. When her shift is over, a petite redhead named Olive takes her place. She’s gentle with him, laying a damp wash cloth over his face and checking his catheter. She asks him about how he feels and stays to fix him up a glass of ice water.

Anne comes just after visiting hours begin with an iPad, a pineapple smoothie, and a smile that seems more genuine than Harry can remember it ever being.

“Hi sweetie.” She leans over and gives him a big kiss on the forehead. Anne’s always been distant. Harry wouldn’t say he had a bad childhood or that Anne was even a bad mother. She was just busy. Always busy with something or another after Des left and Anne had to raise two children with different nannies cycling in and out of their lives.

Harry stares at the iPad a bit dumbly.

“Mum,” Harry chokes out, feeling like he’s going to cry. “I can’t remember the last six years.”

“Oh sweetie. Oh Harry.” Anne wraps her arms around Harry’s shoulders and pulls him into a hug.

He was going to be strong, he was going to be _brave_ and yet, here he is crying on his mother’s shoulder. He hasn’t cried to her since he scraped his knee in year three and she was too busy to soothe him. Anne’s worry seems genuine. Maybe this is who Anne is now; dependable, present, loving.

“It’s alright. Everything will be alright. Retrograde amnesia comes back.”

“What if it doesn’t?”

Anne’s face pinches up, her grip becomes more desperate. “You can’t think like that Harry. It’s been three days.”

Despite Anne’s tenderness, there’s only one person that Harry truly wants to see. “I want Nick, mum. I just want to see Nick.”

“You want Nick?” Anne scratches her fingers through Harry’s scalp. Harry gives a pathetic nod, closing his eyes against the soreness in his head. “He’ll be here, sweetie, alright?”

It’s still tense though. Harry doesn’t know how to act around his mother. Their relationship has always been slightly strained as Gemma took on the role of Harry’s caretaker in their mother’s absence. Gemma was the first one he came out to and the first one he turned to in times of need. Gemma was always his comfort, his confidant, and his companion through thick and thin.

“Where’s Gem?”

“Australia. She’s on vacation with her friends.”

“Oh.” Harry deflates. He stares at the IV dripping into the back of his hand.

When Olive woke him up for his questions half an hour ago, he had a splitting headache and his IV popped out. It was a pain to get back in. Harry had broken a sweat from the pain.

“The doctor said you’re doing well though. That’s exciting.”

“Yeah. We’re going to see if I can go to the bathroom by myself later.”

“That’s very good, Harry.” Anne’s phone pings. She doesn’t reach for it. Harry’s unsure if it’s because that’s who she is now – a woman who values time with her children over work – or if she’s intentionally pretending she didn’t hear it to appease him. “Do you remember Robin?” At Harry’s nod, Anne continues. “We got married a few years ago. I brought pictures.”

Harry hum’s and ha’s as he looks through them. He looks like he remembers in the pictures; nineteen with fluffy hair and a round face, dimple poking into his cheek like always. He wonders what he looks like now.

As Anne glances at her phone, Harry is brought back to his primary graduation with his mum spending more time on her blackberry, frantically typing and stepping out to answer calls than watching him sing in the choir and taking his picture. He remembers how Anne pushed Harry into business, into accounting and finance and making sure his private tutors pushed him to do timed math drills and making mountains of flashcards. She used to just hand Harry from nanny to nanny until Gemma was old enough to look after the both of them.

Harry wants to ask for Gemma to fly home. He wants her long hugs and her fingernails combing through his hair. He wants Gemma’s vivacious laugh and loud jokes. He wants something familiar, something he can hang on to. Harry wants something that feels real and genuine, not like people are holding back or hiding from him.

Instead, he savours the moment of love he receives from Anne as she smiles at him, and closes his eyes.

~

Harry wakes up screaming.

His throat is sore and his head feels split wide open.

He can’t remember the nightmare that woke him. He only knows that he’s drenched in sweat and has been screaming himself hoarse.

Bettina shuffles in just as Harry was reaching for the nurse call button on the edge of his bed.

“Nightmare,” Harry explains, settling against the sheets. He accepts the glass of ice water she has for him, suckling on the straw.

Bettina clucks her tongue and checks his IV. “Anything that could be from your past?”

Harry shakes his head. “I don’t remember what it was. It was scary though, I think I was dying.”

“That won’t happen here, love. You’re doing great.” She checks on his catheter then pats his hand.

Bettina has a soft spot for him. She brought him a cookie from the staff lounge after his mum left and stayed with him to sing along to the _Friends_ theme song when it played. She told him about her two children and how her eldest is pregnant. Bettina slips her cellphone out of her scrubs – something that Harry knows is against policy – then shows him pictures of her daughter’s pregnant belly. Harry absolutely melts.

“Do you want me to turn on the television? Fluff your pillow?”

“No thank you. I think I’m going to try to sleep again.”

Although she nods, Bettina lifts his sprained ankle and rearranges the pillows. “I’ll see you for breakfast.”

He’s only cried once since he arrived in the hospital, but in the dark of the night and faced with the reality of his retrograde amnesia he cries again and mourns the loss of himself.

Objectively, he knows who he is; Harry Styles, twenty-five, husband, accountant, and – that’s as much as he knows. He doesn’t know where he lives or where he works. He doesn’t know who gets up to make breakfast first or who does the washing up. Harry doesn’t know what his relationship with his mother is like or whether it is common for Gemma to be out of the country for weeks at a time.

Harry doesn’t know anything of the last six years of his life. He doesn’t know if Liam is still his best mate who’s hopelessly in love with Danielle or if he’s a personal trainer residing in Wolverhampton at his old training gym. He wonders how Barbara and the ladies are doing, if they still make blueberry scones before they make the strawberry ones.

Harry, try as he might to fall asleep, stays up until the sun shines its first ray of light with exhaustion weighing heavy on his mind.

~

Harry’s engaged in a game of Candy Crush when he’s alarmed by a loud, “Y’always were a bit of an attention seeker, weren’t ya?”

“Nick!” Harry grins.

Nick wanders over to the bed, giving him a hug and a shit eating grin. Nick still smells the same, his hug still feels the same and Harry gets that swoop of arousal when Nick’s breath fans across his neck.

Nick’s aged well. He’s got tiny crow’s feet by his eyes and deeper set lines around his cheeks when he smiles. Harry can’t be blamed for the way he wants to rope Nick in, to kiss him and touch him and take him apart.

He remembers every kiss, every touch, every time Nick stole him from the library to fuck in his office. Harry remembers last week, when Nick had bent him over the sturdy oak and ate him out until he was shaking and near tears.

Nick’s got a smirk on his face like he knows what Harry’s thinking.

He reaches out and touches Harry’s cheek, just below the healing cut there. “Got yourself a bit banged up.”

“Um. Yeah. Hit by a car.”

“S’not very good. Can’t ruin the curls, now can you?” Nick reaches out and pushes Harry’s hair back.

That was another thing that had startled him, his appearance now. When he got the iPad, the first thing he did was open the camera and look at his face. He looks older with less baby fat and it was odd to look at the man on the screen and realize that it’s actually him. It was strange to see his hair touch his shoulders and a tiny bit of stubble speckled about his chin and upper lip. Harry looked undeniably rough, with the bandage on his eyebrow and cut on his cheekbone.

Nick cups Harry’s cheek, looking at him.

“I peed by myself today,” Harry tells him proudly.

He realizes that it’s a bit silly once he’s said it out loud. It was a big deal though. With the assistance of Olive, he was able to stand up and let the blood flow to his feet while he leaned on a crutch. It was easier than Harry had anticipated, although taking his first step was a struggle. Olive had walked with him around the room a bit after he had washed, before he was finally allowed to crawl back into it, exhausted by the minimal amount of exercise. Olive came back once an hour to lead him in another circle around the bed until she deemed Harry stable to walk to the bathroom with the walking aid by himself.

His sprain is bad enough that he’ll have to walk with a walker to get to the bathroom. The upside is that it’s only a second-degree sprain and should only take up to a month to heal.

“Exciting.” Nick’s eyes crinkle at the sides when he smiles.

“Want a kiss,” Harry tells him, puckering his lips. He’s missed Nick’s kisses and although the last one he remembered was from only a few days ago, he wants one from the man in front of him now.

Nick chuckles, picking up Harry’s hand and, mindful of his IV, kisses the back of it.

“Not what I meant,” Harry pouts. He folds his arms over his chest and gives Nick his biggest puppy dog eyes.

“Ah, nice try love. I’m afraid that stopped working on me six years ago.” He still threads his fingers with Harry’s though, so he counts it as a win.

“So. What’s our life like now?” Harry wiggles his fingers, attracting Nick’s attention to the big glittering ring on his finger.

Nick stares at it a beat too long. It’s sweet, Harry thinks, that Nick has to swallow back his emotions. He looks a little regretful, like maybe the cereal box ring wasn’t good enough, but it’s led to the ring he has now and Harry loves it. He wouldn’t trade a second with Nick for anything.

“Well,” Nick says carefully.

“You can tell me. Whatever it is. Good, bad, what are we like?”

“I’m not a TA anymore.” Harry frowns at that. He had hope for a few more romps in Nick’s office; maybe he has a professor’s office now, with a big oak table and fluffy chairs that his students’ sit in. The thrill of someone walking in at any moment still sends shivers down his spine. “I’m a hot shot investment broker.”

That throws Harry off, but he can picture Nick in a cushy office.

“So lots of suits?”

“Mmm.”

“Am I an accountant?” Harry asks. Something changes in Nick then, something indescribable. Harry doesn’t like the way his eyebrows pull together, the slight pucker of his lips. “When I woke up I thought it was 2013 and I had that audit test before Valentine’s Day.”

Nick laughs, but it’s not genuine. Or, maybe it is and Harry just doesn’t know what is genuine or not. The thought scares him. Not knowing what is real.

“You’re not an accountant actually.” Nick doesn’t look at him as he says it.

“I’m not? What does my mum think of that?”

“She wasn’t too pleased.”

“Oh.” Accounting is all Harry knows. “What do I do then?”

“You’re a massage therapist.” Nick says in a way that he imagines Nick would if telling Harry to pick up milk on the way home. It’s not with much enthusiasm nor is it with disdain. It’s careful, slightly emotionless.

The occupation isn’t something Anne would have chosen for him. Anne had turned her nose up at him when he said he wanted to be a musician.

“Do I like it?” Harry asks worriedly. He squeezes Nick’s slack fingers.

“You like it very much, yes.”

Harry fiddles with his ring nervously. Nick has always been a fantastic partner. They’ve gotten in squabbles and spats, but their days always ended with Harry wrapped up in Nick’s arms. Harry was happiest when he was sneaking into his business ethics TA’s room to make out before class.

The first time Harry had met Nick’s friends, a couple months before Harry’s memory pauses, Daisy, a beautiful brunette with a wide smile and generous cheek-kisses made a comment about how ironic it was that Nick was a teacher’s assistant for business ethics, yet he was fucking a student. It had made Harry shrink in on himself even though it wasn’t said with judgement or maliciousness. Nick had tucked Harry into his side and kissed his forehead. It made him feel safe and secure and verified that they were more than just a fling. The ten year age difference didn’t bother him much, nor did it bother Anne once she found out of Nick’s status.

“Are we happy together?” Harry asks, not liking the way Nick’s gone silent.

He never gets an answer though. As the door swings open, his mother sweeps into the room, a grand smile on her lips.

Harry sinks back into the pillows. He doesn’t want to be upset by his mother’s intrusion, but he was hoping for more time to find out about his life.

“How are you feeling love?” She asks, pulling up a chair to sit across from Nick.

She gives him a single nod, something Harry can’t decipher.

“I’m good. Better now that Nick’s here.”

Anne smiles wide and pats his thigh. “That’s excellent. And what have you and Nick talked about?”

Anne raises an eyebrow at Nick and Harry whips his head to look at him. He looks down guiltily.

“Um. He said I was a massage therapist.”

“You are.”

An unsettling silence fills the room then.

“I can always go back to business if you want.”

“No, sweetie, you don’t have to do that. You’re quite a good massage therapist. A lot of your patients have actually been asking about you.”

“Really?” Harry can’t imagine warranting that much concern. It’s a nice gesture though. Harry supposes he’s a much different person. At twenty-five, Harry guesses he can’t always spend his weekend getting drunk and snorting the occasional line of coke. Although that’s what Nick had done at his age and he has turned out more than fine.

“So, I just came in to say hi and make sure you’re alright now that Nick’s here.”

“I’m perfect.” Harry corrects.

“Good baby.” Anne pulls out her phone. She’s lurking, as if making sure Nick stays in line.

“Do we have a house together?” Harry addresses Nick.

“We-”

“You’ll come home with me darling.”

Harry turns to Nick and waits for him to protest that. He stays silent though, finding the tiles more interesting than the conversation.

“I want to be with Nick.”

“You’ve had a long day, Harry. How about we talk about this tomorrow?”

Harry looks mournfully between Anne and Nick. “It’s still visiting hours.”

“Harry-”

The knock on the door startles the trio. Bettina comes shuffling in, her scrubs pale pink with red hearts all over them.

“Hello everyone. How are you feeling, Harry?”

“I’m good.” Harry’s palm is slick in Nick’s hand.

“Good. I heard you made it to the bathroom on your own.”

Harry squirms, a flush spreading along his cheeks. “Um. Yes.”

“That’s so exciting. You must be very proud.” Harry nods sheepishly, painfully aware of how his family’s staring at him. “It’s time for your bath though. Would you like your visitors to be here for that?”

“Um. No thank you.”

Unlike other patients that Olive has told him about, he throws less of a fit about having his gown taken off than other patients in his situation do. Harry doesn’t mind the scent of the soap they use. He was given the choice between lemon or lavender and had chosen the latter. It’s not quite the same as the candles he likes to put in his dorm, but it’s familiar and clean and he likes the way the wipes feel on his skin.

“Alright. I’ll give you a few more minutes with your visitors.” She smiles at Nick and Anne as she exits the room. She’s a great nurse. When Harry’s out of here he’s going to send her a fruit basket.

“Nick, we should probably turn in for the night.”

Nick nods once, sharp and jerky.

“Come and see me tomorrow?” Harry asks hopefully. Again, Nick gives Harry a nod, his eyes are distant.

Harry assumes, if he was in Nick’s position, with his husband forgetting six years of his life, then he’d be quite awkward and unsure himself. “I love you,” Harry tells him with all the wide-eye innocence of a nineteen year old.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Harry.” Nick presses a lingering kiss to his forehead then leaves.

Harry hadn’t noticed that Anne had already left without saying goodbye.

~

Nick, as promised, came back around three pm the next day. Harry had a long day of walking around the halls and lying in bed. He’s no longer concussed, but he’s bored out of his bloody mind.

So when Nick shuffles in with a tofu wrap and a mango-beery smoothie, Harry’s expecting him to be in more of an affectionate mood than the previous day.

He’s not though. Nick still dodges Harry’s kiss and presses one to his forehead instead of his cheek.

“Want to watch TV with me?”

Nick squeezes his chair close to Harry’s bed and offers his hand. He’s quiet as they watch, fiddling with his phone and not bothering to show Harry what he’s finding amusing when he snorts at his screen.

After two episodes of a television show that Harry can’t for the life of him remember, he starts to feel restless. He’s mobile, sure, but there are not many places he can go when he’s hooked up to his IV. He can walk to the bathroom and back or, with permission, down the hallway. The confinements of the hospital room are taking its toll on him. He can hear a scuffle outside, someone getting loud presumably about their loved one. Harry wishes someone was out there for him, caring about him to that extent. He turns to Nick who’s still captivated by his phone.

He leans over as much as he can, trying to get a view of whatever Nick deems more important than his amnesiac fiancé.

Harry only sees it for a flash of a second before Nick is swiping to a screen grab of a texting conversation. What Harry does see though, is a picture of a man with piercing eyes. His lips are pursed a bit and his hair is black and out of his face. There was a red jumper and maybe some black jeans, but Harry spent most of the time looking at the man’s face. He had a strong jaw and cutting cheekbones, though the feature that stood out the most in the nanoseconds that Harry saw, were his eyes. They were a piercing hazel unlike anything Harry’s ever seen.

There is no doubt in Harry’s mind that he would remember eyes like those. They’re striking and gorgeous and jealousy burns hot in Harry’s blood. He says the only thing he can think of.

“Can we make out?”

Nick visibly startles at Harry’s request. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea Harry.”

“Please. You’ve barely talked to me all day. I just want to feel close to you.” Nick opens his mouth before closing it after a beat too long. Harry thinks back to the guy from the picture. “Tell us more about our life then.”

Nick pockets his phone in his jacket pocket. “I’m going to pee, alright? We’ll talk when I get back.”

Harry huffs, squirming lower in the bed. His arse is sore from staying in the same position for so long. His days here are starting to become a blur of questions and scans and lost memories. He’s frustrated that he can’t remember his life and Nick’s reluctance to share their relationship with him only fuels it.

He angrily clicks off the television, determined to corner Nick when he’s back and guilt him into revealing aspects of their life. Before he can think of too many questions, a knock sounds on the door.

Olive has never knocked a day in her life, neither has Bettina. Anne struts in like she owns the building and Gemma is still in Australia. Harry calls for them to enter, self-conscious of how he looks in the bed. If it’s Liam, he’s seen him much worse, with his head in a toilet bowl and vomit all down the front of his shirt.

A man pokes his head in, nervously running his hand down his faded grey ‘University London’ hoodie. It looks the same as the one that Harry bought his first day of his first year of uni.

It’s not Liam, but it is another good-looking man. He looks to be about Harry’s age.

“Hi,” the man says, smiling a bit sheepishly. He’s got a bouquet of pink hibiscus in one hand and scratches the back of his neck. He’s trailed by Anne who shuts the door quickly before hurrying to the seat Nick had occupied.

“Hello,” Harry replies.

The man’s beautiful. With his shaved head and little grin. He’s got a stud pierced into his nose and rosy cheeks. The strangest thing about him is that he’s wearing sunglasses. He doesn’t say anything as he shifts his weight from his left to his right foot.

“Sweetie,” Anne says squeezing his hand to the point that he has to let go. “Do you remember who this is?”

Harry looks him up and down. He tries to remember every lecture he’s had. He was a bit of a lone wolf, opting to study by himself or with Nick. He didn’t talk to many other students in class and the bakery he worked at was off campus.

The man is gorgeous and Harry feels zero shame in thinking that. He’s seen the way Nick’s eyes will sometimes linger on a hot bartender or he’ll watch Nick light up at a male student, checking out their arse when they walk back to their seat. It’s reassuring though, that at the end of every night Harry’s the one that Nick’s kissing, touching, fucking. And it’s the same for Harry now.

He offers Harry a small smile, one that looks hopeful and genuine. There’s something so painfully familiar about him, but Harry can’t place him in any aspect of his life. Maybe if he took off his sunglasses.

“Um, no I don’t. Sorry.” Harry looks at his sprained ankle uselessly. It’s wrapped in an elastic compression wrap and elevated by two pillows. “I don’t remember some things so…”

“Harry has retrograde amnesia, don’t you sweetie?”

Harry ducks his head.

“Yeah, the doctor said. I’m Zayn.” Zayn gives a half wave then licks his lips. He’s definitely cute.

When no one says anything, Harry scratches at the stubble growing on his chin. He ignores the man’s crestfallen expression. “Are those flowers for me?”

“I – yes. Sorry, I don’t have a vase or anything.” Zayn springs into motion. His matte red Doc Martens clomp against the usually squeaky floor as he places them on the nightstand. He rearranges Harry’s iPad and places the card closer to Harry’s hospital bed. “Do you not have a phone?”

“It broke. I got hit by a car and it um, it shattered when I hit the ground.”

Zayn winces, the corner of his lips going tight. “That’s too bad.”

Harry’s spent three days cooped up in the stuffy room. He’s well aware of how many photos, messages, and dates are lost.

“I mean, you can always boot up your iCloud and see if it sparks anything.”

“I-”

“Dr. Carlton said that Harry’s still healing and shouldn’t push himself.” Anne says, directing her glare towards Zayn. “He’s got to make new memories.”

A silence descends upon them.

Harry fiddles with the blanket, hyperaware of how his mother and Zayn are watching him. He doesn’t like being under such scrutiny.

“I’m really tired, mum.” Harry rolls the polyester blanket between his thumb and forefinger. He is about to elaborate on how his arse has gone numb when Nick comes out of the bathroom.

“Uh-” Nick looks alarmed at the sight of Anne and Zayn.

“Nick!” Harry cheers when Nick enters the room. Zayn makes a displeased sound under his breath, stepping closer to Harry while Anne shoots out of her seat and draws Nick into a big hug. “Zayn, have you met my fiancé?” Harry asks excitedly.

Nick looks like he’s swallowed a blown up puffer fish. Harry reaches out for him, only for Nick to stand dumbly beside Anne.

Zayn nods and stuffs his hands in the pocket of his hoodie. “A few times, yeah.” His voice is deep, weighted down by his accent, it sounds like every syllable is rolled around on his tongue. “Hi Nick.”

“Yeah, uh. Hiya Zayn. How are you, you well?”

“Good yeah. Just dropping off some flowers.” He nods to the hibiscus on the table.

“That was nice.”

“I love hibiscus,” Harry agrees. “How’d you know?”

“Sweetie,” Anne interrupts. Harry tries not to become irritated with his mother, but it’s difficult. He wants to reacquaint himself with the people in his life. He loves his mother, but it’s hard for him to appreciate her presence when she keeps interrupting him. “Didn’t you say you were getting tired? And isn’t there a two person maximum?”

“Well, yes-”

“You shouldn’t break the rules like this Harry.” Anne shakes her head and reaches for her purse on the floor. “We should all go anyway.”

“No.” Harry glances to Nick, helplessly reaching for him again. “I want Nick to stay.”

“I’ve got work. Maybe Zayn can stay with you?”

“No,” Anne all but barks. “If Harry’s tired, he shouldn’t have any visitors at all.”

“Mum,” Harry whines ready to pull a full on strop. He had a great beginning to the day and he’s got another couple of hours to sit in bed all day and do absolutely nothing. It’s not what he wants to do at all.

“You should get some rest. You’re always grouchy when you’re tired.”

“Fine. Thank you for visiting Zayn. It was great um, meeting you.”

Zayn grins, bowing his head just the smallest amount. “I’m glad you’re alright.”

Harry waits until Zayn has ducked out, offering a wave to Nick and Anne. “Can I have a moment with Nick, mum?”

“Alright sweetie.” Anne kisses Harry on the forehead before rubbing her thumb over the sticky lip-gloss she left behind.

“What’s going on with you today?”

“Me?” Nick dismisses. He sits in the chair beside the bed and spreads his fingers over his thighs. Harry tries not to get distracted.

“Yes. You weren’t paying attention to me at all then you just disappeared to the bathroom.”

“I had to use the loo!” Nick excuses.

Harry has heard Nick excuse himself time and time again. Like when they first started dating and Nick had insisted on taking Harry out of town on dates under the guise of it being better cuisine. Or when Nick claimed that he couldn’t stay overnight at Harry’s because he lived in the dorms and someone might see him. Nick had also made excuses for when he went home for the weekend and didn’t invite Harry because he hadn’t thought they were there yet.

Harry wonders how close he is with Nick’s family now that they’re married. They were going to go during summer hols, but now that Harry’s forgotten so much, he’s antsy to know what they think of him.

“Talk to me Nick, I’m poorly.” Harry bats his eyelashes sweetly.

“I do really have to get to work.”

“Stop avoiding me. I don’t remember a lot and you’re not making it any easier!”

Nick sighs and shakes his head a little sadly. “I’ll see you soon, alright?”

“Fine,” Harry dismisses bitterly.

He doesn’t wave, doesn’t blow Nick a kissy face, nor does he demand any form of a goodbye.

Harry sits in his hospital bed and rolls onto his side. He feels like the days gone on forever, from his trip to the bathroom to Nick’s withdrawn attitude. The annoying presence of his mum combined with Zayn’s arrival has left Harry feeling petulant and lonely.

When Olive comes in before her shift change with Bettina, she helps him walk around his room a few times before letting him go to the bathroom himself. He stays quiet the entire time, silently fuming about how lonely and helpless he feels. He doesn’t like having to rely on others and he hasn’t seen Dr. Carlton the entire day. He just wants to know when he can leave.

It’s been four days and Harry’s been subjected to blood tests and MRI scans and rigorous psychometric tests. He’s getting annoyed with the buzz of the fan in the hallway and the television only provides him so much entertainment. He wants answers and human contact. He wants to step outside and explore the world – his world – that he doesn’t remember.

“Alright Harry. You’re looking great so far.” Olive offers him a kind, gentle smile like always. Harry tries not to find that irritating as well. Everyone keeps smiling and telling him how well he’s doing and yet, he has no idea when he’s fucking leaving. “We’re on a new rotation now, so Bettina’s not coming in. Adam is and he’s a great nurse, I promise you.”

“Okay.” Harry reaches for his iPad. He has no intention of befriending Adam in the same sense that he’s befriended Bettina and Olive.

“Have a good night.”

Harry fires up Netflix. He’s been making his way through _It’s Always Sunny In Philadelphia_. He figures that if he’s going to be stuck in this pseudo jail cell for an indeterminate amount of time, fifteen seasons of a still-running show will fill his time.

Bitter and agitated, Harry doesn’t wait for Adam to introduce himself, nor does he walk to the bathroom to brush his teeth. Instead, Harry watches television until his eyes droop.

~

Adam is, in fact, a good nurse. He has some great jokes and an inviting smile. He tells Harry about his girlfriend, who’s from Japan and getting her degree in English Literature. He jokes around about Harry having no privacy to himself when he wakes up with morning wood. And above all else, he asks Harry questions about himself as if he’s genuinely curious instead of just doing his job.

“You’ve got a visitor outside,” Adam tells him when he’s done signing off on Harry’s chart. “Dr. Carlton’s coming in at nine to talk to you about your discharge, but this guy’s been outside for like, half an hour at least.”

Hope blossoms in Harry’s heart. He has roughly an hour with Nick.

“He’s quite attractive really. Devastatingly gorgeous.”

“He’s my fiancé, or, husband. I’m not quite sure,” Harry tells him. He absolutely shines from Adam’s description of Nick.

“Well, you’re lucky and so is he. It’s always nice when someone loves you enough to visit every day.”

Adam leaves as Harry situates himself. His hair is pulled back in a tight bun and he has a bit more colour in his cheeks from the pancakes and cantaloupe he was allowed to eat. He’s buzzing with excitement to see Nick and finally, _finally_ get some answers.

It surprises him then, when it’s Zayn who emerges from behind the door.

“Oh,” Harry can’t help how taken aback he sounds. “Hi.”

Zayn looks different than he had the previous day. For one, the sunglasses are gone, allowing him to see Zayn’s eyes. He remembers those eye crinkles, the way his tongue pokes out from his teeth a bit.

“You’re Liam’s friend!” Harry nearly shouts. He’s so thrilled that he _remembers_ something. “You’re Liam’s friend, right? You’re dating that girl whose roommates with Danielle!”

Zayn’s face falls faster than a rushing waterfall. “Um, we never dated.”

“Oh.”

“But I know who you’re talking about. You’re right though, I’m friends with Liam.”

Zayn takes a few steps closer and awkwardly stands by Harry’s ankles. He’s wearing a pair of grey jeans with a black pull-over hoodie. He looks more well-rested than yesterday though.

“Am I still friends with Liam?” Harry asks hesitantly.

“Of course. He’s coming at some point, but couldn’t get it off work. He has two children now, he’s married.” Zayn digs around in his back pocket before tapping on his phone. “He’s not married to Danielle though.” He shows Harry a picture of someone who is undoubtedly Liam. His face is a little rounder, more stubble around his jaw. His hair is buzzed on the sides and grown a bit on top.

The woman next to him is next level gorgeous. She’s so insanely attractive that Harry doesn’t even ask what happened to Danielle. Their two children are stunning too. They have dirty blonde hair and the son, who looks around four, is in a green football uniform. The girl looks around two and is in a black football uniform. They make a stunning family.

“They’re Chloe and David. That’s Sophia. She’s actually pregnant right now.”

“Really? How many months?” Harry goes to swipe to the next picture, but Zayn retracts his phone. The lock seems to echo.

Zayn coughs into his fist. “Six.”

“That’s so exciting. Did you go to their wedding?”

“Yeah. You were his best man.”

“No way!”

“I have pictures of that too.”

They spend their time going back and forth like that. Zayn shows Harry some pictures on his phone. Some are hilarious – of Harry slumped on a table with Liam laughing around the lip of a beer bottle beside him. There’s a blond, who Zayn explains is Niall. “He’s another one of our friends. You’ll love him, everyone does.”

And although Harry doesn’t know him, he already feels like he’s friends with Niall just from the pictures. There’s one of Harry and Niall in a toga, arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders while holding up two nearly empty bottles of rum. There’s a picture of a three legged race that was at Liam’s son, David, birthday party where Niall’s fallen over and Harry’s on top of him. Another one shows Liam and Niall shoving Harry’s face into his twenty-forth birthday cake. Another lad is in the picture with them, laughing gleefully with a bottle of beer in his hand.

“That’s Louis,” Zayn explains. “I worked with him in uni and he joined our group. He’s loud.”

More pictures come up with Louis in some of them. He’s holding Liam in a choke hold in one of them and in another Harry’s holding a small baby with Louis standing beside him. “That’s Louis’ son. He named him Beckham and Liam was so mad. They bickered for days about it.”

“Who’s he married to?”

“He broke up with his girlfriend a couple of months ago. They share custody.”

“Oh. Where are you in all of these?”

“I was taking them,” Zayn explains.

And so Harry loses himself in them. He reacquaints himself with pictures of what he looked like in the past couple of years. Liam, Louis, and Niall are ever present in them, but he can’t help how he notices that Nick is missing in all of them.

It doesn’t seem right to ask Zayn though. With the way he’s smiling and explaining, getting caught up in the stories and laughing so hard he bites his lip and cuts himself off, Harry doesn’t want to ask why his fiancé isn’t in them. Then again, it’s normal and healthy even, to have a group of friends outside of your significant other. Harry assumes that’s what it boils down to.

An hour passes quickly that way and by the time Dr. Carlton is knocking on Harry’s door to discuss his progress, Harry feels happier and better socialized than he has in the past five days.

“I’m just going to the cafeteria, do you want me to bring you anything?”

“Grape Jell-O?” Harry asks hopefully. He pouts to Dr. Carlton who laughs and tells him he’s allowed to eat anything from the cafeteria.

“Alright, should we get down to business?” Dr. Carlton asks. “You’ve shown significant improvements with your bruised ribs. The swelling in your ankle has gone down thanks to the brace and your MRI showed little signs of trauma.”

“But I can’t remember anything.”

“That’s common.” Dr. Carlton is professional. He’s not too uptight, but he also doesn’t smile a ton either. He’s not gentle like Bettina or sarcastic like Olive and he always wears a white coat over his scrubs. “We want to keep you for a couple more days. It’s standard for an amnesiac to stay for at least seven days when they’ve had the amount of brain trauma you came in with. We’re going to run one last test before you go, just to scan and make sure your temporal lobe is as healed as it should be.”

“So I have three more days?”

“Yes. If your recovery stays as consistent as it has been, I have no doubt you’ll be out early Friday morning. So now, we’ve got to talk about your living arrangement.”

“Okay.”

“It’s best, that when you go home, you continue to live as familiarly as possible.”

“But I’m a massage therapist. I don’t know anything about massage therapy.”

Dr. Carlton frowns, the wrinkles in between his eyebrows deepening. “You don’t have to return to work right away. You can explore your options of what you would like to do with that. I recommend that you live with your family though. Your mother has mentioned that she’d like you to live with her, but you should be in a surrounding that can spark memories.”

“Okay. So, it’s possible that I could see something and remember?”

“Not necessarily. You may have some memories come back to you, random flashes or just waking up and remembering where you went vacationing. Spontaneous recovery isn’t uncommon, but I would caution you against believing everything someone tells you. We receive some patients whose past memory solely relies on past personal information retold to them.”

“Oh,” Harry’s face falls.

“That doesn’t mean not to trust the people around you. You have a great support system and a husband who loves you.”

“Alright.”

“Do you have any questions?”

“Not right now.”

“Alright. Well Adam is here to help you and he’ll introduce you to your night nurse, Roz.”

Harry nods, itching for his iPad. “Okay. Thank you.”

Dr. Carlton shakes his hand and leaves after that. Harry grabs his iPad and downloads Facebook. His thumbs misspell his email, yet after a few corrections, he’s confident he has the right email and password combination. Except –

“Son of a-”

Facebook login reappears, informing him that he has the wrong passcode. He types H-e-s-0-1-0-2-? again and waits for it to go through. When it doesn’t, Harry scrambles to think what it could be.

The pictures Zayn showed him didn’t jumpstart any memories and although Harry’s grateful that Zayn was willing to share as much as he did, Harry wants to see what was on his Facebook. He wants to look at pictures, read old messages, and browse through people’s profiles. It hadn’t even occurred to him to look through it until Zayn came in. He wants to know more. He wants to know why Zayn came in and offered him so much information. He wants to know why Nick has yet to do so himself.

When Harry can’t access Facebook, he moves onto his email. After three failed attempts, he’s locked out of his account. He can’t see his Twitter as it’s private and he doesn’t remember having any other social media in 2009. With a frustrated cry, Harry locks the iPad and tosses it onto his side table with as much anger-fueled gentleness he can produce. He’s stewing about not being able to access anything, petulantly ignoring the insistent press of his bladder. After ten minutes ticks by and Zayn’s showed no sign of his grape Jell-O, Harry grumbles all the way to the bathroom.

Zayn comes in just as Harry’s coming out. He is carrying a water bottle and a container of grape Jell-O with a smile.

“What did the doctor say?”

“I can leave in three days.”

Zayn hands Harry the Jell-O along with a plastic spoon. “That’s excellent. I bet your mum will be happy.”

“And Nick,” Harry agrees.

“Yeah, Nick too.” A beat passes. Zayn picks up the card from Lux on the side table and traces over the glittery letters.

Harry starts scooping the Jell-O into his mouth. He rolls it around his tongue, squishes it against the roof of his mouth, then swallows. “This could really use some vodka.”

“I don’t think the doctor would approve.”

Harry laughs, stabbing at the gelatinized lump. He eats some more, swirling the Jell-O around before humming. “Probably not. I can’t wait to get out of here. We should have a pub night or something so I can re-meet Niall.”

“You’ll love him. When we first met him it was like – he’s the funniest person ever. He’s friends with everyone.”

“So how did we meet then? Me and you?”

“University.” He just stares at Harry intently. It’s a bit unnerving.

His eyes are a mixture of green and brown, _hazel_ , Harry thinks sharply. They’re mesmerizing really and Harry gets another flash of remembrance.

He’s the man from the picture on Nick’s phone.

He wants to ask, wants to prod and poke about how they know each other, how they interconnect, when Anne comes bursting through the door.

“Zayn! The nurse told me you were in.” She’s wearing a leopard print top with leggings and boots. Anne looks fashionable, but the look on her face is anything, but friendly.

“I – yeah. I thought I was the only one coming today.”

“Well.” Anne’s boots click as she walks across the tiles. “I talked to Dr. Carlton and he said you would be ready to come home in a couple of days. Robin and I are getting the guest room all set up for you.” Harry rolls his eyes as Anne looks at his ankle brace. “We’re so excited to have you home, Harry. You probably don’t remember our new place.”

Harry shakes his head, placing the near empty snack on his side table. “I’m not going home with you. I want to go home with Nick.”

“Sweetie-”

“Stop calling me that!” Harry demands. “You never called me that before. You – I want to go home with Nick. I want to live in our house and get my memories back! I want to spend time with him and I want you to stop treating me like a child!”

He doesn’t realize that he has tears stinging his eyes until he glances at Zayn. He’s embarrassed by his outburst. He’s a twenty-five year old man yelling at his mother. “Can you give us a moment?”

Zayn nods, quietly making his way out of the room.

“What’s the matter Harry?” Anne strokes her fingers over his forehead, down to cup his cheek. “Why can’t you just come home with us?”

“I don’t want to. Dr. Carlton said to familiarize myself with how I lived before.”

“What if you don’t like it, hmm? What if it’s not at all what you expected. You’re nineteen Harry, mentally.”

“And I want to be twenty-five. I want to meet my friends again and spend time with Nick. I’m so lonely, I just want Nick.”

“Oh sweetie.” It doesn’t sound like Anne’s patronizing him anymore and when she pulls him into a hug, cradling his head against her chest, he goes into it willingly.

“M’sorry for freaking out on you.”

“It’s alright, baby. You’re not well. You need your mum.”

Harry sniffs. Everything is so up in the air.

He has no idea what to do about his job. He doesn’t know anything about anatomy and muscles and tissues and other things that have to do with massage therapy. Hell, he doesn’t even know if any of that has to do with massage therapy. He voices his worries to his mum.

“You have some books lying around. Old textbooks and stuff, do you want me to bring you those?”

“Yes please.”

“Alright baby. Everything will work out, okay?”

“Mhmm.”

“Take a nap, okay? Get some sleep.”

Rather than argue, Harry just nods. He accepts the kiss on the cheek from Anne before asking her to tell Zayn he wants some time to himself, but he can come back later. She smiles and tells him she’ll talk to him and that Nick wants to come in later.

“Maybe just tell Zayn I’m not up for visitors for the rest of the day, then? I want Nick to myself tonight.”

Anne nods, kissing him on the forehead before retreating.

~

Harry’s woken at quarter to eight.

“Hi Harry, I’m Roz, your night nurse.”

“Hello.”

Roz is a couple years older than Harry. She has long black hair tied into a bun atop her head and small hands that fiddle with his IV. “So, you’ve been doing great so far. I know a lot of nurses have been telling you that, but Bettina tells me you have been getting daily baths?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright. Well, we want to see if you can take a shower by yourself.”

“A shower?” Taking a shower feels unachievable. “I’ve been really tired today. My head hurts.”

Roz clucks her tongue at him. “Are you being serious or are you just saying that?”

“Roz-”

The nurse barrels on. “We have one in your bathroom. It has a seat that you can sit on and a removable shower head. There’s a railing for support, but I have a feeling you’ll do just fine.”

“But… my ankle.”

“You’ll take your brace off and you can remain sitting for your shower or you can lean on the railing. Plenty of patients do it. It just seems that Bettina has spoiled you.”

Harry worries his bottom lip. “Do I have to do that today?”

“If you’d feel more comfortable I can wait until Adam starts his shift and he can help you if you’re prefer.”

“I’m actually waiting for my husband to visit.”

“I don’t think he’s coming back.” Roz informs him.

Harry’s eyebrows scrunch up, arm shooting out to check the time on his iPad. “Was Nick here already? Was I asleep?”

“You didn’t have any visitors while you were asleep.”

“Oh.” She must have it wrong then. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Would you like to take a shower now or after dinner?”

“Now, I suppose.”

Showering is fairly simple. Roz removes his IV then walks with him to the bathroom. She sits inside the bathroom as Harry shuts the curtain and tells him that it’s standard for her in case he falls. He plays music through his iPad and listens as Roz sings along under her breath. She has a beautiful voice.

When Harry settles back in bed he feels much better.

His independent shower is a reminder that despite his incapability to remember the past six years, he’s a functioning human who can survive in the real world.

~

Zayn comes at the beginning of visiting hours again.

He’s carrying a black backpack and takes out three notebooks.

“These are from university.” He tells him after they greet each other. “This one,” he presents Harry with a red notebook with scribblings on it, “is your overview of anatomy, physiology, pathology, and kinesiology.” It has post-it notes coming out of the sides of it in faded pinks and yellows. “This blue one is assessment and treatment techniques. So like, I’m not too sure, but it helps you identify how to treat patients I think.” Zayn presents him a green notebook that’s a little smaller and less beaten down. “This one is for the business side of things. You made notes about ethics and marketing and accounting.”

“This is great Zayn, thanks.”

“No worries. I’m actually not staying though.”

“No?” After the morning they had together yesterday Harry had assumed that Zayn would stick around today.

“I have some errands to run, housekeeping things to do.”

“Oh. That’s – sorry I didn’t ask, are you married?”

“Yeah,” Zayn smiles. He shows Harry his ring.

Harry hadn’t noticed it yesterday, but it’s a simple silver band with an emerald in the middle and two diamonds on the side. “I love the green.”

“Me too,” Zayn hums before looking at it himself. “Alright, well. I guess I’ll see you later?”

“Okay. Thanks for these,” Harry waves the notebooks around.

~

Harry spends the rest of the day studying.

His notebooks are surprisingly organized. Every definition is highlighted and every part of the body has a diagram with it. Some even have multiple, like the feet and shoulders. Harry’s alarmed by how carefully he’s written everything. Each section is written in different colours and post-it notes remind him of where to find more about the subject.

At the end of each chapter there are little quizzes Harry wrote for himself along with essay questions. He commends his younger self for his thoroughness.

There are big words that he has to look up the definition of, but for the most part Harry understands.

Adam comes in and reads over his shoulder, groaning about how he had almost failed a class because of the tibia and fibula. It’s been two hours of the stratum synoviale and humeral head when it clicks. It just – it’s like in cartoons when a lightbulb glows over a characters head.

Harry reads through the tendons in the foot and ankle and doesn’t even have to look at the labels to match them to the arrow. He tests himself with the quizzes and is alarmed and pleased to find out that he gets most of them right.

It’s a surprise then, when Adam comes in with his lunch.

Harry eats his mashed potatoes and chicken while skimming through his assessment and treatment notebook. It’s not as detailed as there’s less specific information to learn, but Harry is giddy with how much he knows.

He wants to call Dr. Carlton and brag about how well he’s doing. He wants to shout and scream and _cry_ from the sheer amount of joy he feels. He throws off his blanket and massages his thighs. Harry feels his muscles and tendons shift as he moves around and prods at his own body.

It’s exhilarating.

For the first time since Harry was admitted, he feels like his assimilation into his old life will be smooth.

That is, until the next day.

It starts out well enough. Dr. Carlton comes around midafternoon to talk about Harry’s discharge the next day and to look at his ankle. They discuss how Harry will be able to look after it especially now that he has more information on ligaments and tendons. He talks about living as stress-free as possible and reincorporating alcohol and caffeine slowly, warning against going on a bender the first night he’s free.

“Don’t wallow about your amnesia. Amnesiacs live perfectly normal and satisfying lives with or without regaining their memory.”

“I know,” Harry nods even as a ball of dread and doubts makes itself a home in his belly.

“Go slow about your day, take your time with things. You’re healthy and you can be happy too.”

After Dr. Carlton’s pep talk, Adam comes in to lead him to the shower. He leaves Harry’s room and comes back when Harry’s done to make sure he’s alright then grabs lunch for him. Harry hasn’t had any visitors since Zayn the previous morning, but it doesn’t bother him. Harry will have plenty of time with Nick when they’re back in his house.

God, the things they can do together when Harry’s home. He’s longed to touch and hold Nick, to kiss him and love him and get back to how Harry remembers. He wants to fuck Nick, have Nick fuck him, then cuddle up in Nick’s plush bed until the sun comes up and they can go again.

He misses being held and being wanted. He loathes how careful and withdrawn Nick is with him in the hospital.

So when Nick doesn’t visit and Zayn comes through the door after dinner, Harry’s a bit miffed.

Instead of his usual cheery greeting, Harry blurts, “Why are you here?”

“I’m – I came to see you.”

“But why? We’re not even friends.”

Zayn looks a bit dejected but recovers quickly. His features school over until his demeanour is cool. “I um, I wanted to see if you got any use out of those notebooks I brought you the other day. If you looked at them or not.”

Harry doesn’t want to talk about his memory anymore. Everyone keeps poking and prodding at him and asking him questions that he doesn’t have the answer to. With his discharge so close on the horizon, Harry just wants to go home and sleep and fuck and not worry about a nurse coming in ten thousand times a day. He just wants to leave the hospital and stop everyone’s pity visits. He wants the family and the friends that he remembers to be around him.

“Where’s Liam?”

Zayn licks his lips, a nervous habit that Harry’s already picked up on. “Liam’s actually outside.”

Harry perks up, smoothing his fly-away baby hairs back against the top of his head. His hair is in a tight bun, but he worries that the bruise on his face hasn’t fully healed yet.

“Can I see him? Is he coming in?”

“He is, yeah. Your mum wants to talk to you first though. And Nick. There’s something we want to talk about with you.”

Zayn’s serious tone surprises Harry. The way he says ‘we’ as if Zayn is a vital part of Harry’s well-being and has to be present during this. Everyone gathering together the day before Harry’s release has him wary.

“Oh, alright.”

“Okay, let me just-” Zayn reaches for the door, but it bursts open instead.

A girl comes shrieking in, her loud laugh echoing around the room. She’s not Lux, and it’s not Chloe either. She has dark brown hair tied up with a purple scrunchie and she’s wearing a yellow sundress over pink tights. It doesn’t match at all, but her face is twisted into such glee Harry doesn’t comment.

He doesn’t know who the girl is though, until she wraps her arms around Zayn’s thighs and buries her head into them.

Liam follows looking exasperated.

“Liam!” Harry calls out, making his way out of the bed.

That’s when everything changes.

It’s like slow motion the way Liam looks at Harry and Harry smiles back. Then there’s Zayn who’s hands wrap protectively around the little girl just as she’s twirling around to look at Harry.

Her face lights up as Liam’s falls, a look of absolute terror overtakes his features.

The girl is out of Zayn’s grip and dashing over to Harry so quick he doesn’t think before he’s catching her impact. That’s when she looks up at him and grins, so big it has Harry smiling back. Her eyes are big and hazel, staring at him with the happy innocence only a child can possess. Curls spring out around her forehead as shrieks, “Daddy!”

It’s like – it’s like Harry’s jumped off a cliff and been submerged into water.

Every sound becomes background noise. Zayn calling her name is muffled in Harry’s confusion, the girl beginning to hysterically cry and latch onto the bottom of Harry’s gown is drowned out. Liam tries to approach Harry, but Harry’s reeling as if he’s been slapped.

He can faintly hear his heart monitor beating rapidly. It’s loud and insistent and Liam’s holding his hand, putting a hand against his forehead. Harry can’t catch his breath. He feels like rocks are scraping against his lungs. Air isn’t getting pulled in and when he breathes out it’s like a rush of air that has him panicking to inhale once more.

“Haz, Haz. Harry.” Liam guides him out of his panic attack with a gentle hand brushing along his forehead and matching their breaths together. “Jesus fuck, are you alright?”

“I-” Harry shakes his head and slumps into his hospital pillow. It’s too stiff under him. “Who was that?”

“Uh, Amara.”

Harry rolls the name around on his tongue. “What’s her last name?”

“Malik.”

“And what’s mine?”

And Harry knows. He knows without certainty what’s going on. He knows why Nick has been so distant and why Zayn has come to visit him so many times. It clicks why Anne wanted him to come live with her and tried to do everything in her power to kick Zayn out whenever he came to visit.

It hurts to know that everyone, Zayn included, lied to him for a week and it took a child, _his_ child, for the truth to come out.

“Just say it Liam.”

Liam bites his lip. Although Harry still can’t get his head around who this Liam is – big and broad and well-muscled – he just wants the truth from his oldest friend. He wants one person, just one, to be honest with him.

“Um, Malik. Your last name’s Malik, Harry.”


	2. Chapter 2

For the second day in a row, Harry eats a blueberry bagel with strawberry cream cheese while sitting on the black leather barstool and resting his elbows on the shiny silver countertop.

It’s not the same home that he started his mornings in back when he was in secondary school. There’s no stain on the brown velvet couch from when Harry and Liam knocked over a bottle of Jack and spilt a quarter of it on the cushion. Nor are there scuff marks on the kitchen tile from Harry running through it in his football cleats. Gemma would scream bloody murder if she caught sight of them before leaving a scrub brush and a bucket for him to clean it up with.

His bedroom isn’t the third from the right on the second floor and he doesn’t have his own bathroom where he stores his Bleu De Chanel. Instead, he’s staying in one of three guest rooms with a bathroom across the hall. It doesn’t look lived in nor does it smell like his childhood home did, but it will have to do.

“Good morning Mr. Malik.” Aleid, Anne’s housekeeper greets.

“Good morning.”

Harry had found it strange to hear her greet him in that manner. Despite Harry’s insistence to be called by his first name, Aleid had shaken her head and patted his cheek. “You always used to turn so red when I called you that.” The elderly Dutch woman’s words were laced with fondness. Harry had a hard time asking her not to address him like that again.

“What are you doing today? Are the girls coming by?”

“I don’t think so. I still haven’t talked to Zayn.”

“No?”

Harry shakes his head. Aleid fusses with the bagel crumbs under Harry’s hands before dumping them into the garbage can. She moves around the entire house with such fluidity, Harry had assumed she lived here with them before his mum informed him that Aleid only worked during the week. Just last night, Anne had to ask her where the cups were kept.

“I’m nervous, a bit.” Harry feels foolish as he says it. Avoiding his problems and living with his mum is the easy way out. Harry knows this and yet he’s actively hiding from the responsibility of raising a family, _his_ family.

Zayn had said he understood. Or well, _Liam_ , had said that Zayn understood.

“Mr. Malik loves you. When you are ready he will be waiting.”

Harry sighs and twiddles with his shiny new iPhone. It was a gift from Anne. Harry reckons that it’s some sort of bribery to get him to continue to stay in her home. He still doesn’t understand why she doesn’t want him to go live with Zayn, although he’s glad because he’s not sure he’s quite ready for that yet. He has a number of contacts programmed into it – Liam and Nick, his mum, Gemma, and most importantly, Zayn.

He scrolls through the phone and just seeing Zayn’s name in his contact list makes Harry’s stomach churn and heart hurt. He’s got a bottle of pain medicine prescribed by the doctor in case his headaches get too much for him to handle, but this isn’t that kind of hurt.

Harry knows what he should do. Or well, he knows how he should feel. He should feel sad and guilty about neglecting his family. At the same time, Harry can’t face that reality just yet. He doesn’t want to immerse himself into a life that he doesn’t know. He hasn’t downloaded Facebook or checked his emails, too afraid of what he might find now that he knows the truth.

It’s cowardly and Harry’s aware of that. The guilt ate him away last night until he fell into an exhausted, fitful sleep. He kept turning his phone over and over in his hand, listening to the music downloaded on his iTunes. Harry knew some of them from uni and secondary school while others completely blindsided him. There are a lot more indie albums than he remembers.

Liam had delivered a box of necessities from Harry and Zayn’s house – Christ, a _house_ , for a _family_. Harry still couldn’t wrap his mind around it. The box held Harry’s laptop, his planner, and a ton of clothing. They are all flower patterns and sheer tops mixed in with thick hoodies and stained grey t-shirts. His pants were all black skinny jeans that varied in wash and stretch.

“I wear this?” Harry had asked, unpacking the box onto his bed.

“Yeah mate. And you’ve worn a lot worse.”

Harry had slumped onto the bed, face shoved into the pillow. “What am I going to do, mate?”

Liam stared at him with his dreadful puppy dog eyes. “Whatever you think is best.”

Harry wanted to scream and kick and _cry_ at that vague, half-assed answer. He wanted someone to demand he do something, take responsibility, step up to the plate and be the man he was just a mere month ago. Instead, everyone, including Zayn, was more than willing to give Harry space and time to adjust to it.

Aleid taps Harry’s forearm with her pale fingers. “Don’t frown Mr. Malik. Everything will be okay.”

“What if it’s not though? I’m not – I’m not a father. I’m not even a husband.” Harry looks down at his hands, at his _ring_. “Well, apparently I am, but I don’t know how to be.”

Aleid squeezes Harry’s hands. Her fingers are small and pale, slightly wrinkled with age. “I have known you for four years and you have been great at both. Everything will work out.”

Harry nods, sliding off the chair. “Alright, well. Thanks Aleid.

With that, Harry trudges up the stairs, mindful of his ankle. He relies heavily on the railing as he makes his way to his new bedroom. He takes a deep breath before plopping onto the too big bed, and opening his laptop up.

The picture on his home screen hits him like a punch to the stomach, knocking the breath out of him.

It’s Amara, their oldest at four, and Madeline, their almost two year old, with their arms wrapped around each other in matching red Christmas themed dresses with massive smiles. When Liam had given Harry a fairly shortened version of his life – a loving husband, two daughters, a satisfying career, and a sensible car – Harry’s knee-jerk reaction was to cry.

The hospital room was uncomfortable and stifling after learning that news. Overcome by grief and confusion, Harry cried and cried and cried until visiting hours were over and Liam had to leave. Anne picked him up the following morning as planned, but there was no one else in sight. She was quiet, almost angry that Harry had learned the truth about his life. Bettina came by to give him a hug and her email address while Olive left a card and a bag of candy at the reception desk for him.

The past two days have left Harry to pick up the pieces and decide what he was going to do. This is the first time he’s attempted to delve into his forgotten past and a part of him, a selfish, protective part of him, wants to never learn the truth.

It’s with a heavy heart and a box of tissues close by, red rimmed eyes and a runny nose that Harry chooses to look at photo albums on his laptop and scroll through his Facebook. He opts for the Facebook, assuming that it contains less personal information and therefore will be less of a jump.

He’s wrong.

For starters, his Facebook name is Harry Malik and it says right on his profile who he’s married to. Zayn and him have almost identical profile pictures of their happy family, Amara and Madeline looking radiant in both. He skims his fingers on the screen, trying to touch them and feel some connection. They’re adorable children. Harry’s got to find out if they’re related to each other and how exactly they became part of their family at some point.

Checking his messages, Harry finds twelve that have gone unanswered from his clients or friends wishing him well. None of the names seem familiar in the slightest so he clicks around to see their mutual friends for any signs that they have a friendship.

He wastes some time familiarizing himself with Liam’s family and searches Niall’s name to find his profile as well. Louis doesn’t use his Facebook very much except for posting videos of Beckham’s football practices that involved more of Louis cheering than any useful commentary about the sport.

It looks like their children are all fairly good friends if the pictures are anything to go by. There are plenty of pictures of Halloweens, Christmases, birthdays, and sunny days at the park that have the quintet looking like the best of pals.

It’s with an anxious heart and a deep breath that Harry exits out of Facebook and opens the photo albums saved onto his laptop. They’re all labeled something different. Things like _AMARA WALKING!!!_ or _MADY SWIMS!_ some have their birthday parties and then there are photos of Zayn and Harry in university. They look young and happy, a multitude of them involve cheek kisses and squinted eyes.

Harry finds that he’s traveled to Spain and Brazil, Paris, Italy, and California. Most are with Zayn, but there’s a photo album of him and Gemma in Paris together where Harry would guess he was about twenty-one.

He looks at every picture he can, willing himself to remember the two girls who are his daughters. They are truly beautiful, and Harry’s not just saying that because he’s biased. In all actuality, Harry’s had conflicting feelings over his attachment to the girls. They’re practically strangers to him, but he wants to have a connection with them. Harry blinks back more tears at that thought.

Looking back at the pictures, Harry wills himself to remember them. Amara has lighter skin than Madeline, wilder curls and hazel eyes. Madeline’s eyes are a dark brown and her skin is just a touch darker than Zayn’s. Her hair is wavy and short, mostly held back by headbands or tied up in ponytail holders.

Zayn is something otherworldly though.

No matter if the picture is meant to be serious, silly, or smiley, Zayn looks impeccable. He’s dressed in a suit in some, slacks and a dress shirt in others. There are pictures where he’s wearing stained and dirty clothes and others where he’s in a simple shirt and jeans. Harry stumbles upon a picture where Zayn’s in nothing by tiny boxers with a little smirk on his face. It has Harry blushing in an instant. From the knowing smirk on his face to the way the hairs on his stomach darken towards his waistband. He has tattoos all over his body and Harry finds himself squinting to make them out.

Harry has had some time to think about Nick and Zayn and where he falls into everything in the two days since his discharge from the hospital.

His heart still feels something for Nick. It’s impossible to tamper and although Harry has tried to think of a future with Zayn – all he sees is Nick. He’s all he’s ever known.

Which is how Harry finds himself calling Nick mid-afternoon.

“Harry?”

Harry swallows, chest tight. “Hi Nick. Hi, yeah.”

“You alright? I’m at work.”

“Oh. Is this a bad time? I wanted to talk to you.”

The line is silent. Harry thinks Nick’s hung up on him until he hears shuffling and a door close. “You should really be talking to Zayn, Harry. I don’t. Listen, for a minute, yeah?” Nick takes a deep breath and Harry takes the opportunity to straighten himself up against the headboard. “I don’t have an excuse for why I went along with pretending to be your husband alright? I thought I was doing what was best. Anne and I decided on that, but I – Zayn loves you. You love Zayn and we’re still friends, yeah? We text on holidays and birthdays, but that’s all we are.”

“That’s it?” Harry can’t believe it. Nick was Harry’s future, Harry’s forever.

“I don’t know what to tell you.”

Nick’s blasé attitude towards Harry hurts like a serrated knife to the heart.

“Why did we break up? Did I cheat on you?”

Nick scoffs. “God, no. We just. We fell apart. We weren’t good together, you and I.”

“Yes we were.” Harry’s eyes sting. “We were perfect Nick. We, we did everything together.”

“That wasn’t healthy Harry. You and I – God, this feels like we’re breaking up all over again. I’m at work. I can’t do this right now.”

“I need to know Nick, it’s important.”

“How about we meet for coffee? Tonight to get it over with.”

Everything in Harry screams that he doesn’t want whatever he has with Nick to be over with, but his mind travels back to Amara and Mady. The obligations he never asked for. “Alright. But I can’t drive yet, so.”

~

Nick picks him up just after dinner.

Anne was absolutely thrilled to hear they were meeting for coffee and insists on going out to their driveway so she can greet him. Harry gets in the car as quickly as possible, noticing the way Nick doesn’t lean in for a kiss or a hug.

“So, what have you been up to the past couple of days?”

Harry crosses his arms over his chest. Nick’s got the air conditioning blaring and his thin shirt doesn’t protect him from the breeze. “I didn’t do much of anything yesterday. Today I went through my Facebook, though.”

“Yeah? You post a bit about the girls, they’re lovely.”

“So you’ve met them?”

“Um,” Nick shifts in his seat at a stoplight. “I ran into you and Zayn at the grocery store once and then when I was at the hospital Zayn brought them when he was visiting you.”

“Oh. They saw me like that?” Harry winces at the thought of the young girls seeing him all bandaged up and unconscious in a hospital bed.

“Yeah. Zayn didn’t really want them to, but he took the week off work so he could spend it all by your side. He said they had whined and cried until he agreed to bring them to see you. Make sure you were okay. It kind of went to shit with the whole,” he waves his hand in the air, “memory thing.”

Harry clutches at his phone in his lap. He really should probably talk to Zayn.

The coffee place Nick suggests is fairly standard as far as coffee shops go. They’re playing a band he doesn’t recognize that Nick bobs his head to while they order. Nick pays for Harry’s tea then grabs a croissant for himself along with a black coffee.

They sit in awkward silence as Nick nibbles on his food and Harry sips his tea. Harry doesn’t like it. He swallows down the bitterness he feels towards their ruined relationship. It’s not fair that things ended without a valid excuse and Harry can’t even remember it. Nick had said, that they were still mates who texted on holidays, but it feels like there’s something he’s hiding. Harry’s not sure he wants to know what it is.

Once Nick’s finished the pastry and wiped his hands off on his thighs, Harry feels brave enough to talk.

“Why did you say we weren’t good together? Before.”

“Because we weren’t,” Nick shrugs. “Our relationship was completely inappropriate and the time we didn’t spend sleeping together was foreplay for when we _would_ sleep together.”

“That’s not true. I loved you.”

“You thought you loved me. We just, we were different Harry. You didn’t even want to be in accounting and you were in your second year. I was a grad student for Christ’s sake. I was twenty-five, sleeping with a student. Do you know how many rules that violated? How much jeopardy we put ourselves in?”

“I still,” Harry stares at his mug of tea sadly. “I want to be with you.”

Harry doesn’t know what he was expecting. It’s definitely not for Nick to curl in on himself with a look of disgust on his face. “You’re married Harry. You have a husband and two children. You can’t say that! You can’t even think it.”

“I feel it though. I – I don’t know anything, but I know that I want to be with you.”

“This was a horrible idea Harry.” Nick scrunches up his dirty napkin and leaves his half-drank coffee in favour of standing up abruptly. “Absolutely stupid of me to think that I could help you in any way.”

“Nick,” Harry says scrambling to follow him. “Nick, I’m sorry. I’m trying, I am. It’s just – in my head, we’re engaged.”

“We weren’t even proper engaged,” Nick tells him once they’re out the door, Harry following at his heels. “Do you not remember how that happened?” There’s a bite to Nick’s voice that leaves Harry feeling vulnerable, unsteady. “We were fucked out of our minds, hungover and horny and eating fucking cereal. It was a joke.”

“It wasn’t a joke to me.” Harry gets back into Nick’s hummer, slamming the door shut.

It wasn’t. There’s no way that they were anything other than completely committed to each other. Harry would spend days in Nick’s apartment with him. He would make him dinner when Nick would be too busy grading or make him breakfast in bed. He would stay in Nick’s flat and do coursework while Nick went out and partied, sometimes too drunk to come home, he would stay at a mate’s while Harry fell asleep alone. Harry would pack a lunch for Nick to take to class only for Nick to forget it and Harry to deliver it and eat it with him.

Harry lived for the domestic moments he shared with Nick.

“By the end of March we were fighting all the time and then by April we weren’t even together. We lasted like, five months.”

Harry looks out the window and wills his eyes to stop stinging. Objectively, he knows he has a husband and children and yet, having Nick so close but so distant is all that he can seem to care about.

They sit in awkward silence once again as Nick drives Harry home. Harry detests how tired he is of everyone awkwardly shuffling around him. He misses the easiness of interactions with the people around him. Everything’s a mess now and it makes his head start to hurt again.

When Nick pulls up to Harry’s house, it’s dark outside. “Before you go,” Nick starts cautiously, “just remember this, okay? You have a lot of people in your life who love you. A ton, more than I could ever wish for.” Harry nods seriously. He knows this. “But don’t believe everything everyone tells you.”

“What, like how you told me we were engaged?”

“I never explicitly said that Harry.”

“You didn’t correct me.”

Nick at least has the decency to look sheepish. “No, I didn’t.”

Harry stews in anger for a couple of seconds. He lets himself be angry and upset by the cards he’s been dealt. “Is this the last time I’ll see you then?”

“Probably. I know I’ve been rude, but Haz, talk to Zayn, okay?”

“I will.”

“Alright.”

~

Harry texts Zayn as soon as he wakes up. He spent a long amount of time after his shower last night contemplating what the best step forward was for him and has concluded that speaking to Zayn would help him sort out his emotions.

It’s a simple, ‘ _Hi this is Harry_ ’ that gets an immediate, ‘ _Hi, how are you feeling?_ ’ in response.

Harry doesn’t know how to message Zayn. He can’t remember the last time he felt so nervous while messaging someone and then taking ten minutes to come up with a response to a simple text. It shouldn’t make his stomach twist and his heart pound like it does.

He ends up biting the bullet and calling Zayn before he can talk himself out of it.

“Harry?”

Harry chews his thumbnail before breathing, “Yeah. It’s me. Hi.”

“Hi. Are you alright? Did you just wake up?” Zayn sounds airy, a bit distracted. He can hear babbling in the background.

“Yeah. Are you busy?”

“I’m taking Mar to nursery in like, ten minutes, but they’re eating now so it’s alright.”

Harry inspects his hangnails. “How are they?”

“They’re good, yeah. I told them you were still feeling poorly, so that’s where they think you are.”

“Oh. Oh, that’s good I guess. How are you?”

“Fine.” There’s something about Zayn’s nonchalance that makes the knot in his stomach uncurl. “How’s your head? And your ankle?”

“They’re good, thanks. I’m going a bit crazy being locked in this house, but I can drive in two more days.”

Zayn hums. “That will be nice.”

“Yeah.”

A beat passes. Then two.

Harry tries to picture how Zayn must be standing. Maybe they have an island counter like the one in Harry’s mum’s kitchen. Maybe Zayn’s hidden in their bathroom so Amara and Madeline can’t hear him. Or maybe Zayn is in their bedroom – sitting on the bed looking at everything they have together.

“I’ve got to go, Harry.”

“Oh. Already?”

“The girls have nursery and we walk there, so.”

“Oh. Okay.” Harry waits for Zayn to say something else. Should Harry say goodbye first?

“Thanks for calling Harry.”

“Thanks for picking up.”

Harry waits a beat and when Zayn doesn’t hang up he murmurs a rushed parting before doing so himself.

“Thanks for picking up,” Harry scoffs to himself. He could not have sounded more like an idiot if he tried.

He should have done something. He should have invited Zayn out for dinner or invited him over to the house. He should have indicated how grateful he was for Zayn to pack up his clothes. He should have done or said something of importance other than wasting ten minutes of his time in small talk.

Zayn’s his husband for Christ’s sake. The thought is so foreign and strange Harry can’t wrap his mind around it no matter how much he wills it to. He suddenly wishes he had a chance to get to know Zayn better. A causal conversation that doesn’t involve stuttering and little insignificant conversations would be ideal.

“Harry?” Anne calls from the corridor. She knocks on the door twice before entering. She’s in a powder blue top with beige pants. “I thought I heard you talking.”

“I was on the phone with Zayn.”

“Oh?” Anne steps further into the room. She has her arms folded over her chest and her stance is wide. She doesn’t look too pleased. “How did that go? Did you tell him you saw Nick last night?”

Harry shakes his head and flips his phone over. “No.”

“How come?” Anne’s voice is higher, gentler. She sounds as if she’s talking to a skittish deer.

“It didn’t come up.” Harry feels like a scolded child.

“Well. I took the day off. Do you want to come have lunch with me and we can buy you some clothes and shoes?”

“Okay.”

“Okay, sweetie.” Anne places a knee onto the bed and jostles Harry into a tight hug. “I’m so glad you’re here.” She kisses the side of his temple then squeezes his shoulders one last time. “I love you so much. I only want what’s best for you.”

Harry nods a bit dazed. Anne hasn’t been as distant as Harry remembered her to be. She’s still cold at times and often regards Aleid like she isn’t anything more than another piece of decor. She works long days as does Robin. When she comes home after work, she watches the news and sits outside with a glass of wine before supper. At night, she usually she kisses Robin’s cheek then leaves him alone in his den to do whatever she does up in their shared room.

Harry’s trying on a nice pair of leather ankle boots when his phone lights up with a phone call.

He recognizes Niall’s shock of blond hair and wide smile as the contact picture. Making his way away from his mother, he answers with an anxious heart.

“Hello?”

“Harry! This is Niall, you don’t know who I am.”

Harry chokes out a laugh. He quickly covers his mouth before glancing around.

“You sound like you’re dying. Are you alright, Hazza?”

“I’m good, thanks. You sound very Irish.”

“Bro, that’s like, the first thing you said to me when we met. You were drunk out of your mind.”

“Did I really?” Harry can’t hide the sheer amount of glee he feels.

“Mhmm. You were with Zayner and like, completely drunk and hanging all over him and you just like fell into me and were like ‘you sound very Irish.’ It was the dumbest thing ever.”

Harry already likes Niall. He’s not met him yet, not in this sector of his mind, but Niall seems familiar and comforting.

“Anyway, I called because I want to have a lad’s night. You can meet me again, I’m brilliant. And Tommo, that’s Louis, and you remember Liam of course, and Zayn will be there too.”

“Zayn’s coming?”

“Of course. Unless you don’t want him to.”

“No. No, I want him to. I haven’t spent any time with him.”

“Ha, perfect. We’re having it at my place ‘cause I don’t have any kids.”

Harry bounces on his toes in his excitement, forgetting momentarily about his healing ankle. He feels a sharp pain run down his foot, but it doesn’t take the grin off his face. The shoes are comfortable and fit like a glove. They’re also expensive as shit, but he can probably goad his mum into buying them for him. “Okay.”

“Yes! I’ll text you more info later.”

Harry smiles, ignoring his mother and the sales associates looks. “Thanks for inviting me Niall.”

“’Course. See ya bro.”

Anne buys him the shoes.

~

“So, I messaged Gem, but she never replied.” Harry says over his grilled salmon salad.

Anne’s making her way through a seaside squid salad. There are a lot of onions which she washes down with sangria. Her face remains impartial as she chews. “Is there something wrong with your salad? You never did like green peppers.”

“Did you not hear what I just said?” Harry ignores the pile of green peppers that have collected on the edge of his bowl. They are at a trendy salad restaurant that Anne absolutely raved about. It doesn’t live up to Anne’s hype.

“You always talk with your mouth full. You know I hate that.”

“I – I did not. I said Gemma didn’t message me back.”

“That’s hardly news Harry. Eat your salad, it will go cold.”

“Mum did you not hear me?”

Anne straightens in her seat and spears a piece of spinach. “Gemma’s in Australia. She’s very busy.”

“I was in the hospital, mum.”

“And now you’re out.”

Harry thinks back to the two A’s he has inked into his skin. He guiltily got them after he tattooed Gemma’s name in Hebrew on his arm and Anne found out. After that, Harry ensured that she knew he had gotten something just for her, except she hadn’t seemed to care. It felt like, Harry’s entire childhood was spent accommodating to Anne.

“Did something happen?” Harry presses.

“We don’t talk to Gemma anymore sweetie.”

Harry drops his fork. It clanks against his bowl and half the patron’s eyes turn to him. He stares at it dumbly before picking it up.

“Why?” When Anne continues to glare at him, he stabs his food. “You can answer me or I can ask Zayn. I’m sure he’d be more than willing to tell me.”

“You know how Gemma was. She was always rebelling, didn’t do her coursework, and snuck out every night. It only got worse after you went to university. You changed to massage therapy right when she graduated and then she started going travelling with her friends.”

“But I went with her to Paris. There were pictures.”

Anne huffs as if this is the most frustrating conversation to have. “That was years ago Harry, don’t you remember? We haven’t seen Gemma for years. This is ridiculous. I don’t want to talk about her anymore.”

“I have amnesia of course I don’t remember!” Harry swallows the urge to throw a bigger strop. Anne looks like a live lobster’s shoved up her arse, so Harry leans across the table. “I don’t understand why she would just go travel and not contact me.”

“She was always selfish Harry, you know that.”

“But-”

“That’s _enough_ , Harry. Eat your salad. I don’t want to talk about this again.”

On the ride home, Harry leans his head against the headrest and listens to Anne blabber on about her book club. He wonders what in the world he could have done to drive her away.

~

Harry’s stripped naked.

The only thing he’s wearing is his trusty airplane necklace and wedding ring.

The moth tattoo on his stomach is the last one he recalls getting, yet looking at his skin he sees a graphic mermaid, laurels coming out from his hips, and ‘you booze, you lose’. He has his parents birth years tattooed in tiny script on his shoulders along with 2015 and 2017 etched into the inside of his left wrist. He assumes they’re for Amara and Madeline.

He runs his fingers over the rose on his elbow as well as the anatomical heart. Both are delightedly beautiful.

But they’re just tattoos to him. None of them strike a memory within him.

It’s as if he’s looking at someone else’s body. Harry’s too young to be occupying the body he’s in. It’s clearly someone who is twenty-five; old and more mature, with scars and moles and a nose that finally fits his face. His hairline has receded and his lips are no longer as puffy as he remembers.

His hips are a little chubbier than before as well. He has faint outlines of abs, but his thighs look as strong as ever. His dick is still the same size and Harry assumes he grooms himself in the same manner. Turning around, Harry checks out his arse. It’s a tiny bit bigger and Harry cups one hand over it. It’s strong, still a tad squishy. A very good bum then.

He sucks in his stomach and pinches at his love handles. He puffs it out as much as it can go before slumping against the counter. Everything about amnesia leaves Harry with a strange detachment.

He doesn’t feel connected to his mother, who keeps asking about Nick and avoiding the topic of Gemma. There’s something that twists in Harry’s stomach, a feeling he doesn’t want to investigate too much. Every time Anne smiles at him, it feels like she’s hiding something from him. Anne will linger; in his doorway, behind him on his iPad, before leaving the house, and she’ll just stand and stare at him – watch him until he looks up and she’ll give him this careful, slightly guarded smile.

Then there’s Robin – who Harry knows, but he doesn’t _know_. Robin pats his shoulder and sits with him to watch golf or football. It’s never for long and Robin doesn’t offer many conversational topics.

Pictures hang on the walls and frames sit on mantle pieces and side tables. There are professional ones like Robin and Anne on their wedding day; Robin, Anne, Robin’s son Mike, Harry, and Gemma; all three children from individual university graduations. There are none from Harry’s wedding day. Then there are personal ones, silly ones, little collages of Harry and Gemma with their tongues out and eyes crossed; a magnetic photo of Amara and Madeline from Christmas; Anne and Gemma playing Scrabble while their now-deceased cat Dusty sits on the board. In all of the pictures, Harry notes that there is no presence of Zayn.

Frowning, Harry leans closer to the mirror once again. He’s so different from the teenager he was six years ago – with his chubby love handles and short hair. His chin is still spotting random facial hairs and his eyes are the same shade of green, but. It’s just so strange for Harry to constantly look in the mirror and do a double take.

With a sigh and a slight frown etched in Harry’s features, Harry turns on the shower and lets the steam cloud his appearance.

~

Harry’s an absolute mess when it’s time to go to Niall’s for lad’s night.

Liam picks him up in his impeccably clean and family-sensible SUV. He takes one look at Harry after he backs out of the driveway and immediately pulls over just a couple houses down. “Are you alright?”

Harry shakes his head and fiddles with his wedding ring. He hasn’t dared to take it off. It’s a beautiful ring and he’s got to keep it on if he wants to wrap his head around who he is married to. His heart pounds as he crosses his ankles.

“What if they don’t like me?”

Liam laughs at that, squeezing Harry’s fingers. Although Liam looks undoubtedly different, his presence brings back a familiarity that reminds him of the life he remembers. There’s so much that Liam knows about Harry that Harry can’t recall, yet having Liam’s kind eyes and gentle smile supports him in a way no one else around him has. With everything that’s gone on lately, it’s nice to have Liam as a constant support.

“They already love you, mate. I can guarantee they’re more nervous than you are.”

Harry shifts in his seat and looks out the window. It’s hard to imagine that people who know him so personally could be wary of seeing him.

“What if I say something wrong? I barely know them.”

“You won’t, trust me. We’re just going to play some video games, drink some beer. Laddy stuff.” Liam gives him a reassuring smile.

“Okay.” Liam starts the car again and sets out on the road. “So tell me more about Sophia.”

“We actually met through you. Danielle and I had been broken up for about two months and you and Zayn were spending all of your time together and you forced me to go out one night in November and Sophia was at the bar we went to. You recognized her from one of your kinesiology classes and called her over. It was horrifying.”

“I bet you were so red,” Harry teases.

Liam nods before shaking his head in disbelief. “She’s perfect. She got pregnant after we were together for about a year and a half, a couple months after Eleanor found out she was pregnant. David was born in late December three weeks premature and we didn’t think he’d make it. We got married a month before we found out Chloe was on the way. We’ll have you over for dinner with the kids. You’re their god-father.”

“No way! Are you my kids’ god-father?” It slips out before Harry can help it. The open acknowledgement that he has children, the way he had so easily called them his, surprises him.

“I’m Amara’s. Louis is Mady’s and you both said that Niall could be for your next.”

Harry freezes, taken off guard. His stomach twists and he shifts in his seat again. He can’t imagine being so in love with Zayn that he would want to have children with him; especially since he knows next to nothing about him. “We’re having another?”

“That’s – you should really talk to Zayn. I don’t – I don’t know how much to tell you.”

“You can tell me anything Liam.”

“Alright.” Liam squirms in his seat. The drive isn’t taking too long, but houses and buildings blur together with every turn Liam takes.

“I’m serious. My mother’s not the most forthcoming with information and you’re the only person besides Nick I remember. I need you to be honest with me.”

“I have Harry. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“Okay. Okay, thanks. I really love you Li, you’re my oldest friend.” Harry can feel himself getting choked up, but he barrels on. “When I heard we were still friends, I was really, really happy.”

“Oh Haz. You’re so ridiculous. I’m glad you remembered me.”

“Couldn’t forget you if I tried.”

They let the conversation go after that. Liam has it turned to the radio and when Harry starts to sing along to Clean Bandit, Liam turns it off as fast as he can.

“Where did you hear that song?”

“Rather Be? It’s been around forever.”

“It came out in twenty-fourteen Harry.”

“No, that’s – I remember all the words though.”

Liam nearly hits the car beside them as he swerves in excitement. “Holy shit! Holy shit Harry!”

“I remember the song! I know-” Harry feels tears sting his eyes. He knows the lyrics and as insignificant as it may feel – he _remembers_. “Oh my God.”

“Oh my God. Harry, Harry.” Liam reaches over and squeezes Harry’s hand. He looks as ecstatic as Harry feels.

“Turn it back up, replay it! I want to sing it again!”

Liam hooks up his phone at the next intersection. They play Rather Be the entire ride to Niall’s.

~

Niall is the only one there when Liam and Harry arrive.

“Thought it would be better to integrate you slowly. I told the other lads to come over later.” Niall explains before swinging his arms around Harry’s neck and pulling him in for a hug. Harry reciprocates it. He’s wearing a band shirt with jogging shorts.

Harry already feels at ease with Niall. Between the phone call and the various text messages they’ve exchanged, Harry’s reconnection to Niall was instant.

“We’re having fajitas for dinner. It’s build your own.”

“Oh. That’s cool.”

Niall cracks a can of beer open for both his guests before returning to the stove. “You usually like the vegetables while Louis adds an unhealthy amount of cheese, so.” He shrugs like it’s an everyday occurrence for Harry to be scolding someone about what is and isn’t a healthy amount of cheese.

“When’s Zayn coming?” Harry asks, sipping at the dark lager.

“Why? Haven’t talked to your hubby today?” At Harry’s distraught expression, Niall’s teasing grin drops from his face. “Shit, Harry. I didn’t mean-”

“It’s alright. I don’t really talk to him. I don’t know what to say.”

“Oh.”

Liam has stayed relatively quiet. Harry looks to him for guidance, but he’s saved by the doorbell going off. Harry’s stomach knots itself right back up. The beer does nothing to settle it.

Harry bites his lip as he hears a loud, high pitched laugh followed by Liam’s deep chuckle. The man that waltzes into the kitchen must be Louis. His hair is pushed back over his face and he’s wearing grey joggers that tighten around his calf and a low cut maroon shirt.

“Hey, m’Louis.” It’s oddly formal how Louis presents himself for a handshake. Niall hadn’t introduced himself in such an official manner and it throws Harry for a loop. If they’re best mates, or _brothers_ , as Liam had so kindly corrected him earlier, then there should be a need for such formalities.

“Harry.” Regardless, Harry goes to shake his hand and Louis complies before bouncing over to Niall and stealing the spatula from him.

Louis’ loud and his presence fills the room. He seems to hop around; opening the fridge and grabbing a can of soda, bounding over to the cupboard, then to the freezer for the vodka. He nudges Liam in the hip to get him to slide out of his way.

“Starting out strong Lou,” Liam comments. He’s sitting at the half-set table with his legs swung up on the chair across from him. He looks comfortable, like he belongs. Harry feels jealous for a moment at how at ease they all look compared to how isolated Harry feels.

“I get two nights off a week. Cut me some slack.”

Louis pours a drink that is predominately vodka before taking a generous sip. Harry winces from just watching him. “So, how old is everyone?”

“You don’t even know how old we are?” Louis sounds disbelieving. “Jesus.”

There’s something about the way he shakes his head that makes Harry uneasy. Maybe he and Louis are the best of friends, but he’s been assessing Harry that makes him think he’s being judged rather harshly.

“I have amnesia,” Harry bristles. “I don’t remember a lot of stuff.”

“You remembered _Nick_.” Louis all but spits which –

“How is that any of your business? We’re-”

The doorbell quiets Harry. Louis, Liam, and Niall all seem to share a look between the three of them before Louis brushes past Harry to answer.

“He hates me,” Harry says accusingly.

“He doesn’t. Louis’ like a porcupine, all spikes on the outside and soft gooey cuteness on the inside,” Niall explains.

“They’re called quills Niall.”

“Do I look like a fucking porcupine expert, Li? I’m just saying.” Niall rolls his eyes, chucking a chunk of pepper at him. Liam catches it against his chest, a saucy mark staining his top.

Harry settles against Niall’s counter and rearranges his shirt. He runs his fingers through his hair and tries to make sure that he looks his best.

“You look fine Harry. It’s just Zayn.” Liam teases. Niall turns around to wiggle his eyebrows before returning to the peppers and chicken on the stove.

Harry huffs as he brushes his hands down the front of his t-shirt one last time.

Zayn steps into the room and it’s striking to see him this way; in a house instead of a stuffy hospital room. Harry straightens. Zayn’s an inch shorter than Harry and his hair has grown in the slightest since he saw him a few days ago. He’s wearing black jeans similar to Harry’s and a white tank top. The tattoos down his arms are distracting.

Harry’s still standing near his seat, unsure of how he’s supposed to greet Zayn.

“That’s my shirt,” Zayn says, pointing to the one Harry has on.

“Uh.” Harry looks down at it. It’s a standard white shirt. He wore them nearly every day in uni. “Do you want it back?”

“No.” Zayn shakes his head, laughing, and that’s it, really. He hugs Liam and wraps an arm around Niall’s shoulder before stealing a slice of yellow pepper. He crunches on it while staring at Harry’s beer. “Aren’t you on medication?”

“Oh. Oh, yeah.” Harry places the beer behind him. With nothing in his hands, he fiddles with his fingers.

Zayn goes to steal another piece, when Niall finally catches him. “Get out of here! All of you! Nothing but a distraction. Can’t you see the chef is at work?” Niall’s cheeks are flushed from the heat and his hair sticks to his forehead.

“Not much of a chef if you have to follow Jamie Oliver,” Louis quips.

All the men laugh, save for Harry. He can’t help how he feels like he’s on the sidelines. He doesn’t know when it’s okay to laugh at Niall’s expense. Niall doesn’t look too stricken, though. He comically chases them out while waving a knife.

Harry settles beside Zayn on the couch. He’s painfully aware of the foot separating them, but he feels like he has glue sealing his lips shut.

He wonders, in their group dynamic, where he fits. It’s clear that Liam’s the mature one. He always has been and always will be. Louis is clearly the playful menace; from the way he had come into the house and immediately claimed everyone’s attention. Niall seems to be the chill one. Maybe that’s because he’s Irish. Harry doesn’t _know_. And God, Harry doesn’t even know where Zayn fits in, where he is in their little circle of friends.

Harry wishes he had something to say. He reckons talking about how much his head has been killing him lately wouldn’t lighten the mood. Neither would talking about how suffocating he’s finding living at Anne’s to be.

There’s no music playing and no sounds other than the sizzle from the kitchen. Louis’ ice jingles as he sips his mixed drink. “God, this is so weird,” he comments.

“Lou,” Liam scolds.

“It is. Look at them and tell me this is normal.”

Harry uncrosses then re-crosses his legs. He doesn’t like how all eyes turn to him. The taste of the beer he was sipping on earlier has left a bitter taste in his mouth. He wishes he could just down one bottle to take a bit of the edge off. He contemplates sneaking to the bathroom and finishing off the bottle. What’s the worst that could happen if he has just one drink?

“Stop being an asshole Louis.” It’s Zayn who defends him. It shouldn’t surprise Harry as much as it does. They’ve been in each other’s presence for less than five minutes and Harry’s already sweating.

“I’m going for a refill,” Louis announces.

Liam glances between the married couple before dismissing himself with a half assed excuse to do the same.

“What have you been up to?” Zayn asks. He folds his knees into his chest. His feet are covered in mismatched socks.

“Not much. I went shopping with my mum and oh! I knew all the words to Rather Be! I sang along and Li told me it came out in twenty-fourteen!”

Zayn looks genuinely excited at the news. “That’s excellent. You must be so happy.”

“I am, yeah.” Harry nods happily before asking more quietly, “How are the girls?”

“Busy. Amara has a dance recital at the end of June so she’s excited for that and then I’m looking into football camps for her for the summer.”

“Does she like dance?”

Zayn nods, bringing out his phone to show Harry a picture of their eldest in a black leotard and green skirt. She has little tap shoes with bows on her feet. Her arms are thrown up above her head and she’s obviously posing. “She’s brilliant. She’s doing tap. She’s such a star.”

“That must be your genes then.” Harry laughs, sliding over to a picture of Amara sitting on the floor in her outfit eating a banana.

“Um,” Zayn’s eyes fall to the couch. “We didn’t really – we adopted them. We’re not genetically related at like, all.”

“Oh. Um, did we not want to, or?”

When Harry pictured having children, he always assumed that him and his spouse would use an egg donor. He had assumed that there would be a surrogate and that his children would most definitely have a genetic relation. It’s not necessarily disappointing to hear that he’s not biologically related to his children, but it is a surprise.

“We were looking at all our options and went to this orphanage and Amara clung to you. She was seven months old and came from a bad home, alcoholic mother and that, and you fell in love. Immediately changed your tune. It was another six months before everything got in order for us to adopt her, but it was great.”

Zayn has a serene smile on his face, one that Harry’s sure he matches. It’s nice to learn something new.

“What about Madeline then?”

“I’m half Pakistani and so is Amara which we didn’t know the first time we met her. You were so insistent on having children that would have some Pakistani in them and we eventually found Madeline. We got her when she was just under eight months old and she’s been our trouble baby. She never sleeps and is always fussing. She’s an angel though, already has you wrapped around her finger.”

“She’s gorgeous. They both are and, um, you are too. I’m lucky that you’re being so accommodating during this.”

“For better or for worse, right?” Zayn tips his drink to Harry who mirrors him and Harry can’t help the smirk from spreading across his face. Zayn shows him videos of Mady crawling and Amara shouting in the background until Niall summons them for supper.

~

Harry is definitely not drunk. He definitely didn’t excuse himself to go to the bathroom, only to end up in the kitchen, two bottles deep in beer. He feels guilty for sneaking off to drink without anyone scolding him for it but he needed something. He figures, two measly beers is nothing compared to how much they’re drinking and it can’t affect the medication all that much. Besides, everyone was tipsy, laughing and storytelling, and just so happy. Harry had never felt so uncomfortable being sober in his life.

So he’s definitely _not_ drunk right now. Or at least that’s how he’s trying to appear. But Louis – Louis definitely is drunk and he’s glaring at Harry every time their eyes meet. It makes Harry’s skin crawl, an unwelcomed pit of dread that Louis is going to call him out for sneaking away to drink. Harry had been quiet though and other than that, there is no foreseeable reason for Louis to send him a death glare every time Harry laughs. There’s no reason for Louis to bristle and huff when Harry asks a question about who exactly they’re talking about. It’s not _fair_ that Louis seems to be irritated with him when he can’t fucking remember a massive part of his life.

“Okay,” Niall claps his hands, gaining the attention of everyone in the room. He seems to be the only one to notice how out of place Harry has been feeling all night, sending him reassuring smiles and clasping a hand to Harry’s shoulder with a tight squeeze. After dinner, Niall had bundled Harry up into a hug before running off to refill his empty cup. He has an empty bottle of Poitín in his hand, cheeks pink, with a suspicious glint in his eyes. “We’re going to play a game!”

Harry shifts in his seat. His arse has gone numb from sitting for so long.

“Spin the bottle!” He waves the bottle in front of Harry’s face.

Harry promptly chokes on his spit, wide eyes turning to Zayn and face flaming. Louis looks like he swallowed an entire lemon and Liam’s mouth falls open. Zayn catches Harry’s eye before blurting, “No!” with such a murderous tone even Niall looks frightened.

That is, until he takes in the look of everyone else. “No, Jesus, not _that_ kind.”

“What other kind is there? I don’t know what kind you played in sixth form, but ours always ended in a couple drunken shags.”

“No one’s shagging anyone. You,” Niall points at Harry, “spin the bottle. And whoever it lands on, you ask a question to. Anything you want to know.”

Niall fiddles with the bottle as Harry nods to himself. “Sound good?”

“Yeah.” Harry chances a glance at Zayn. Harry slides down onto the floor from where Niall’s moved the coffee table aside. Zayn’s knee barely touches his before he’s retracting it and looping his arm around his legs. Niall mutters a ‘dirty bastards’ under his breath before gesturing for the game to start.

Harry’s first spin lands on Liam. It’s nice, comforting how Liam puts a hand on his arm and squeezes.

“How’re Ruth and Nicola?” He asks, because it’s safe.

“Good. Ruth’s got a boyfriend and Nicola’s married with a daughter.” Liam smiles. His eyes positively light up. “That was a boring question though. Aren’t there things you’re burning to know?”

“I-”

“Save it for next time,” Louis demands. “Spin it, H.”

Harry does just that. He watches the bottle twirl until it lands on – Zayn.

He… there’s just so many things he wants to ask Zayn. Are they happy? What kind of life do they live? Can he see Zayn’s phone and scroll through their last conversation? Who buys the milk and do they prefer whole wheat pasta compared to standard white? Do they have a date night or are they in a boring, sexless marriage where they save the vanilla sex for Tuesdays when they’re both exhausted?

“Um… Does your family like me?”

Zayn’s lips quirk for the first time all night. “Yeah. I have three sisters and they all love you. Probably more than they like me.”

“Really? Do they-”

“One question at a time,” Louis tuts. He pushes his fringe off his face. “Spin the bottle.”

Harry spins and when it lands on Niall, Harry asks a question he’s been urging to all night. “What’s that scar from?” Harry points to Niall’s knee, not caring if it’s rude.

Liam lets out a cackling laugh, as does Louis. Niall laughs good naturedly before sticking his leg out and running his finger over the old scar. “We were going to a footie game. You, me, and Zayner,” Harry’s eyes flick over to Zayn at the same time Niall’s do. Niall stands up then, ready to act it out. “And I was riding my Segway,” Niall puts a bend in his knee, holding up his hands as if bracing the handlebars, “while you and Zayn were fucking making out on the bleachers. We all pre-gamed too hard; you were a sloppy mess while Zayn was holding you up and I was way too drunk to try to ride the fucking thing.

“Anyway, I started trying to do tricks.” Niall shuffles forward, then circles and weaves between Liam and Harry while he talks. “You know, trying to impress the ladies with Segway tricks and shit-”

“You can’t _do_ tricks on a Segway,” Harry points out.

Niall pauses and puts his hands on his hips. “Listen to the story Haz. _So_ ,” Niall’s hands go back up to the faux handlebars. “This one really fit bird wouldn’t take her eyes off of me. I circled, sped up, did a bit of a show, and just as I was about to give her a wink, I collide with the bleachers.” Niall runs into the back of the chair and does a flailing flop over the back of it. His face is flushed and his hair sticks up in all directions. “It wasn’t really like that, but I rode too fast and sliced my knee on the bleachers.”

Harry laughs loudly before covering his mouth.

“It hurt so fucking bad and you were too busy making heart eyes at Romeo to realize I was bleeding out. I didn’t even feel it I was so fucking drunk.” Niall shakes his head fondly before suggestively waggling his eyebrows. “Got a date out of it though, bit of a snog, and then some stitches. It was wicked.”

“It looks wicked,” Harry tells him. He tries to imagine Zayn and him too distracted by each other to pay attention to their friend. He can’t though. It’s hard. He doesn’t know Zayn. He hardly feels any attraction to him other than objective physical attraction at Zayn’s beauty.

He grabs for the bottle and gives it another spin, avoiding looking at Zayn. Harry is hot under his shirt, blushing from his chest. Everyone in the room, his husband included, knows that they’ve had sex. They know the kind of intimacy and relationship they share, yet Harry has no idea what that’s like. He has no idea how Zayn and him interact on a daily basis.

The bottle lands on Louis. With an uncertain swallow, Harry asks, “Are we mates?”

“I guess so.” Louis doesn’t look at Harry as he says it. There is an air of finality to the way Louis regards Harry. It’s dismissive; as if Harry’s nothing more than a mosquito pestering him for some blood.

“Lou, give him a proper answer,” Liam sighs.

“We are.” Louis says as if it physically pains him. “You come over every Wednesday after work and take care of my son, Beckham. He loves you. So do I. We chat shit and you make a casserole for supper then leave before eating any of it.”

“Oh,” Harry swallows. It wasn’t quite the answer he was expecting. He was expecting Louis to roll his eyes and snap at him exclaiming how he should remember that of course they are mates. “That’s – we must be close then.”

“We are,” Louis repeats hastily. His eyes are flitting every which way that isn’t near Harry.

Harry reaches for a stiff drink he doesn’t have. He settles for the pulpy orange juice, swallowing around the sweetness. It’s nothing like the alcoholic beverages the rest of the men – save for Liam – are drinking.

“Tell me about the toga party we went to,” Harry demands of Niall when he lands on him next. At Niall’s perplexed look, Harry adds, “Zayn showed me a picture.”

“Oh. Oh God, we were in what, second year? You got so drunk you puked into a potted plant. I was with some bird and she was well into me until you came over and were clinging onto me. You smelt horrid, like sick and tequila and we couldn’t find Zayn anywhere.”

“When did Zayn and I start dating?” Harry interrupts.

“It’s not your turn to ask a question,” Louis tells him.

Harry doesn’t miss the way Zayn digs his fingers into Louis’ side. Or the way Louis bats his hand away and gives him the middle finger.

As the night goes on, Harry learns more and more.

He learns that Louis has five younger sisters and a younger brother that he keeps in constant contact with because he’s a fierce protector. He learns that Niall would rather spend a night in with the lads and get drunk than go out to a bar and try to pick up some birds. Harry learns that Zayn speaks Urdu and is Muslim. He learns that he did Ramadan with Zayn for the past two years and is teaching Amara about halal meats and respecting every living, breathing creature.

Harry also discovers facts about himself that he never in a million years would have believed. Like how he started doing yoga four times a week and drinks a kale smoothie with a banana and mangoes every morning. He hears that he made Zayn start eating healthier because his family has a history of heart attacks. Through Liam, Harry discovers that it took Zayn three months to pick out a ring and two months for him to propose.

Zayn blushes fiercely at that, shrugging and murmuring about how it’s a big commitment.

Harry asks his friends about some of his tattoos. Louis teases him about how most of them are random doodles, but Zayn pulls up his shirt and reveals that they have hip tattoos in the same places. Seeing his skin up close compared to the picture on Harry’s computer is so much different. He can make out the rise and fall of Zayn’s chest and see the thin hairs that cover his arms and stomach. His skin is smooth, miraculously free of large moles and freckles like Harry’s own. In that moment, Harry can picture himself running his hands up Zayn’s arms, skimming his knuckles over the flat of his belly.

Zayn yanks his shirt up higher, much to Louis’ amusement. “Don’t make it a strip tease,” Louis tells him. Harry feels himself flush as he sits up straight and leaves Zayn’s personal space.

Zayn just answers Louis with a roll of his eyes before pointing out another tattoo. They have matching tattoos of their daughter’s birth years and Zayn shows Harry the initials on the inside of his wedding finger.

Harry hadn’t seen them before and when he inspects the _**HES**_ inked into Zayn’s skin it feels like all the breath is punched out of his lungs. Harry wants to reach out, run his fingers over it, and ask when exactly he got it.

“What’s your favourite thing about me,” Harry asks Zayn hesitantly. It feels like they’re the only two people in the room. Niall and Louis and Liam fading into the background as Harry’s eyes burn a hole into Zayn’s ring finger. He hasn’t even spun the damn bottle.

“You do this thing,” Zayn’s eyes zone out as he smiles, “when you randomly break out in dance and it’s so embarrassing. You do this little hip wiggle, shake your arms about. The girls hate it. You do it all the time though; at the girl's nursery, in the supermarket, making breakfast. It’s – it’s my favourite, yeah.”

It throws Harry for a loop. It’s so incredibly simple, yet intimate – Harry had thought it would be something like ‘your eyes’ or ‘your laugh.’ This is nice though, and Harry finds himself following everyone else’s gentle smiles. It just – it means nothing to him. He can’t picture it.

This life he seems to have with Zayn, without Nick, he can’t imagine it.

In every single event Harry is informed of, he can’t replace Nick with Zayn. Harry finds himself watching doorways, checking his mobile, anything that would alert him of Nick.

When he realizes everyone has their eyes on him, Harry blushes. Niall seems to think it’s for entirely different reasons as he ruffles Harry’s hair and pulls him down into his chest with a rambunctious laugh.

They wrestle for a bit, good naturedly until Harry’s foot nudges against Zayn’s thigh and he freezes.

It’s just that – Louis and Niall and Zayn aren’t his core group. They’re not who Harry remembers surrounding himself with in university. They’re not his hometown mates who he grew up with and came out to and spent weekends getting drunk and hitting on blokes with. They’re not his uni dorm friends like Liam and Andy and Danielle who ate pizza and drank cheap beer and saved every spare coin for a night out. Nor are they Nick’s older and wealthy crew of grad students and interns who drank expensive wine and watched foreign films to pretend that they were cultured.

Once again, Harry seizes up, wondering how the group came together and what part he plays in it. He wants to scream about his confusion.

“I think I need to pee.” Harry says instead. He gets up while avoiding Zayn’s gaze, and listens to Niall’s ‘third door on the right!’

In the bathroom, Harry whips out his phone. His fingers dial for Nick’s number before he can help himself.

“Hello?” It sounds like Nick has friends in the background. Maybe it’s Aimee and Pixie and Daisy, all friends who were initially hesitant to welcome Harry into their circle of friends.

“Hi, it’s me.” Harry’s voice sounds a little slurred to his own ears. He tries to cover it off with a cough.

“I know, Harry.” And God, the way Nick says his name, wine-drunk and slow, has Harry wishing he was with Nick’s fancy friends instead of hearing about his life from three people he doesn’t know. Even Liam’s presence isn’t as comforting as being ducked under Nick’s arm would be.

“What are you doing?” Harry asks unable to help himself.

“I’m at Henry’s for a dinner party. Henry Holland, do you remember him?”

“Yeah,” Harry nods and sits on the toilet seat lid. “I miss you.”

“Harry-”

“No. I know what you’re going to say, but. Are you dating anyone?”

There’s a pause so long that Harry thinks Nick has hung up on him. “No. I’m – Harry we can’t do this.”

“I want to Nick.” Harry feels a bit like he’s drowning. He shouldn’t have snuck those beers. It was reckless and stupid. “Nick, please. Give me a chance.”

“I can’t Hazza. You’re with Zayn. You’re happy.”

“I don’t know him. I’m with him right now and I can’t think about anything but you.” Hurt and desperation cling to each of Harry’s words. His fingers dig into Niall’s tiled countertop.

“You’ve got to try. Give it a fair shot, okay? Move in with him. Get out of your mum’s place.”

A whine escapes Harry’s throat. Living with Zayn and the girls – immersing himself into a lifestyle so foreign and situated – is intimidating as anything. The last time Harry felt this anxious about moving into a new situation was when he was moving into dorms his first year of university.

“Baby steps Harry. Go for lunch with him. Get frozen yogurt with the girls. Just – move out Harry. Get some independence alright?”

“What if I don’t ever remember, though? What if I can’t feel anything for him? I still… Nick.” Slumping with his elbows on his knees, Harry feels helpless.

“I don’t know what to say. We haven’t been together for over six years.”

Reluctantly, Harry nods. He can hear a knock sound through on Nick’s side of the line and ensures that his own bathroom door is locked. “I still love you.”

And maybe that’s not fair of him. Maybe Harry shouldn’t call Nick when they’ve both been drinking to grovel for his attention again. But fuck what’s fair. Harry never asked to lose six years of his memories and be surrounded by people he doesn’t know.

“Okay, Harry.”

Tears start to burn at the edges of his eyes. That was not, in any way, the response that Harry was hoping for. He had thought saying his feelings for Nick out loud would free him in some way. Instead, it’s left him with more sadness than he had upon entering the loo.

“I’m not trying to be rude, okay? I care about you. That’s why I’m saying this.”

“Alright.”

“Alright. I’m going to go. Bye, Harry.”

And before Harry even has a chance to say goodbye, maybe even apologize for interrupting his night or asking if he can talk to their, no _Nick’s_ , friends, Nick hangs up.

Harry splashes cold water on his face and scoops water into his mouth. He fixes up his half-formed bun. The elastic snaps against his skin as he still hasn’t learned how to properly tie it. With a deep, steadying breath, Harry yanks open the door.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Louis crowds Harry back into the bathroom and all but slams the door behind them.

Shocked, Harry shuffles back into the counter, then farther when Louis steps right up into his space.

“I – I was on the phone.”

“I know what you were doing and I know who you were talking to. You’re not fooling anyone by sneaking in here.” Louis looks murderous. He makes up for his lack of height with the venom in his tone. He had his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes are reduced to angry slits. He takes up all the space in the tiny room.

“Louis-”

“No. No one else will actually call you out on your shit, but it’s not fair. Not to Zayn and definitely not to your daughters.”

“I’m not – _Louis_.”

Louis bristles when Harry says his name. Resembling an angry hedgehog, Louis takes another step closer. “You’ve become one of my best friends, Harry. You’ve done everything you can to help my son and I out, but if you think for a single _second_ that I won’t support Zayn and stand up for him when he won’t do it himself, you’re dead wrong.”

“Okay.”

“It’s _not_ okay. You have to grow the fuck up. Even if you don’t love Zayn, or even _like_ him, you have two daughters who cry every night when you don’t tuck them in. You have two daughters who miss their father and are struggling to understand why their daddy’s sick. You have two responsibilities that you adopted and signed for and have to raise. So grow the fuck up and think of someone other than yourself.” Harry nods, dumbfounded. “You signed up to be a father, a husband. Even if you don’t remember it. Zayn never signed up to do this alone.”

“I’m trying,” Harry pleads, helplessly.

His puppy eyes and wobbling lip don’t work on Louis though. “Well try harder.”

Louis leaves with a tired huff and a final glare. He doesn’t slam the door shut, but Harry feels like he has nonetheless.

~

Harry returns to the room to find Niall and Liam chatting about tennis. Zayn and Louis are on the porch smoking cigarettes. Under the porch light, Harry makes out the cloud of smoke around Zayn’s face. He sucks on the cigarette and nods to whatever Louis’ saying. His hands are waving as he gesticulates.

“Does he do that a lot?”

“He’s cut back quite a bit,” Liam defends.

“Nasty habit that.” Harry squeezes himself between Niall and Liam. “I think I want to move out of my mum’s place.”

“Yeah?” Niall asks. He wraps an arm around Harry’s shoulders and drags him in for a bit of a cuddle. Liam rests his hand on Harry’s knee. It’s comforting to have the boys touch him, ground him.

“Don’t know where I’ll go though. I’m not ready for all,” Harry pauses, thinking of Amara and Madeline waiting for him. Of Zayn partner-less, living life as a single father. Days in the clinic and nights spent living a life he doesn’t know. “That.”

“You can move in with us,” Liam offers. “We have a spare room, but you’d have to share a bathroom with the kids.”

“Okay.”

“You can stay with me,” Niall says next.

“I-”

“You don’t want to move in with Nialler. He farts all the time and doesn’t know how to make anything that isn’t Jamie Oliver.”

“You don’t even make your own meals! You just muck about with the tykes while Soph does everything!”

“I do the washing up!”

“I do my own laundry. And I clean my own flat!”

“I’ll think about it,” Harry says to silence his mates. Niall has a defensive glare on his face, looking like a rumpled Ferby. Liam on the other hand looks like someone’s offended his mum.

“Whatever you decide, you won’t be able to get rid of any of us.”

Harry opens his mouth to protest – to tell Liam that he thinks that Louis really, really doesn’t want anything to do with him – but as it is, Louis and Zayn choose that moment to come back through the door. They smell like smoke, but are smiling sheepishly, so Harry doesn’t mention it.

“Alright?” Zayn asks, scrubbing his hand over his head.

“Not really. I have a headache, um.” He stands a bit unsteadily on his feet, hoping that no one notices his wobble. “Can you give me a ride home?”

“Me?” Zayn looks hopeful, his eyes wide and eyebrows raised.

Harry nods, digging his fingernails into the palm of his hand. He gives Niall a tight hug, along with a promise of coming over to watch golf. Liam holds Harry a little tighter, a little fiercer. Harry’s surprised when Louis gets out of his seat to hug Harry.

And just like that Harry finds himself in the passenger seat while Zayn drives his moderately sized, family friendly, SUV. It has car seats in the back, one that’s pink and one that’s yellow. Zayn points out whose is whose when Harry asks.

“How’s your ankle feeling?”

“Good. I haven’t been wearing the ankle brace when I’m at home, so my foot’s a bit swollen now.”

Zayn clucks his tongue. “Are you at least taking care of yourself? Eating alright?”

Harry blushes at that. Even when he was with Nick, he never asked how Harry was aside from post-coitus when he already knew the answer. “Yes. Aleid, I think you know her, she makes wicked good food.”

“Has she made those cinnamon donuts, yet?”

“No, those sound delicious though.” Harry would kill for one right now. Surely the sugar would soak up all the liquid splashing around in his stomach.

Zayn nods and takes a wide left turn. Businesses blur into houses as they drive by. “They’re your favourite.”

Harry shifts in his seat, wiggling around. He fiddles with the seat heater and puts it on low. “I’m thinking about going back to work on Tuesday.”

“Really? You think you’re ready?”

“I think so. Cho, my receptionist, has been very helpful lately.”

“She’s been calling me, she’s great.”

“Mhmm. And also those notebooks you gave me. I still read them, sometimes,” Harry admits.

Harry tilts his head against the headrest to stare at Zayn’s profile. Zayn nods, but otherwise looks focused on the road instead of Harry. He doesn’t know what else to say. Harry didn’t anticipate this, didn’t have a couple hours to prepare him for being alone in the car with a quiet Zayn. Louis’ words play on a loop in his head. Harry’s got to try. “Would you want to go to lunch on Wednesday? I can meet you at your office.”

“That’d be nice.” Zayn slows to a stop. “This is you.”

Harry glances at his house. The driveway is illuminated, the pathway to his door and up the stairs taunt him. “Want to walk me to the door?”

Harry feels jittery throughout the short walk. Everyone is saying he needs to put in more effort with Zayn and yet they don’t touch or say anything as Zayn walks beside him and to the front door. Harry’s stomach doesn’t swoop like he’s on a first date nor does his mind think of scenarios in which this ends with a kiss. Still, Harry’s stomach lurches with the unknown etiquette.

“It was cool hanging out with you,” Harry says.

“I hope you had fun. I know Louis was kind of,” he waves his hand flippantly. He still smells like smoke a little.

“He wasn’t.” It sounds fake even to Harry’s ears.

Zayn shakes his head. For a moment, Harry thinks he’s going to reach out and take his hand. “He was. But, I’m glad you came.”

“Me too.” Harry glances towards his front door. “I’m looking forward to lunch.”

“Just text me when.”

Harry bites his lip, cheeks heating. “I will.”

Just then, the foyer lights turn on. The front door opens and Anne comes out with a fluffy dressing gown wrapped around herself. She’s wearing a scowl, eyes squinted as if disrupted.

“Harry, I thought I heard you outside. You were quite loud.”

“Sorry.” Embarrassment colours Harry’s cheeks further. He never took well to being reprimanded.

“Come inside Harry. You’ve got to get some sleep.”

“I _know_. Can I just have one more minute?” Harry gestures for Anne to give him privacy.

“It’s late Harry. You’ll wake the neighbours.”

Harry fights the urge to scream and stomp his feet. When he had his first date with Winona, a beautiful girl who was a year older than him, Anne had let them make out on the porch well past his curfew. It wasn’t until he came inside that he noticed she was still awake and drinking tea in the kitchen. He was fifteen years old and now, ten years later, Anne finally decides to start enforcing her rules.

Harry turns back to Zayn, who looks even more uncomfortable than Harry feels. He gestures for Anne to give him privacy for his goodbyes.

When she doesn’t move an inch, Harry’s forced to depart with Zayn. Anxiously, Harry gives Zayn an apologetic wave before slipping inside. He solemnly watches Zayn’s retreating figure through the peephole; Liam and Niall’s suggestion to move out of Anne’s place sounds more and more appealing.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry heaves the last box onto his new bed with a sigh. Liam follows suit with a duffel bag filled with Harry’s electronics. He slaps Harry’s back hard enough to jolt him before turning to him with a wide smile.

“This going to be just like uni.” Liam grins. “Except… except we don’t have coursework and you won’t be shagging strangers until three in the morning.” His brows furrow deeper. “You won’t, right? Because my kids live here and Soph goes to bed early, and-”

“Liam, Christ. I’m not going to do anything like that.”

“Okay good. Soph’s bringing the kids back from nursery around 4.” Liam stands in the doorway before striding forward and wrapping Harry into a tight hug. Harry reciprocates it immediately, breathing in the smell of Liam’s sweat and faint body wash. “I’m really happy you’re here Harry.”

Harry hangs on for a few more seconds. Probably more than necessary, but he has to swallow past the lump and insecurity in his throat. He feels split open and raw from the drama of the past few days. Telling Anne he wanted to move in with Liam caused a huge fight between them and then recollecting his belongings into a box was draining, especially with Anne giving him the cold shoulder and Aleid giving him sad looks every time she saw him.

“Thanks for having me,” Harry says, stepping back.

“I’m going to get dinner started. If you need anything feel free to rummage around and look for it. Mi casa esta su casa.”

“I think it’s es, not esta.” Harry points out. “Es su casa, yeah.”

Liam’s smile doesn’t drop from his face. He just shrugs sheepishly. “You share a bathroom with the kids so there might be some toys in the bath. Just shove it in one of the drawers, they’re a mess.”

Harry nods and then in a flash, Liam’s gone.

Liam’s guest room isn’t at all the same as the guest room at Anne’s house. It’s about half the size with a tiny closet in the corner and a small double bed pushed into the wall. A little alarm clock sits on a rickety bedside table and it looks like something Liam’s mum, Karen, would have found at a garage sale. The sheets are an off-yellow and when Harry carefully sits at the end of the bed, he finds that it’s only slightly springy. There’s one light switch by the door – which doesn’t have a lock – and an oval window that has blue blinds covering them.

Although it’s smaller, and quite obviously less lavish than the room Harry stayed in at his mum’s, the energy in it is infectious. Harry can already feel himself rejuvenated and energetic; ready to get to know Zayn and his children and get back to work. Liam and Sophia’s home is filled with pictures of them and their children. There’s a giant picture in their foyer of the wedding party with Harry and Liam grinning madly at the camera. Harry stared so long at it, Liam ran into his back with a box full of his socks and pants.

Harry plugs his phone into the charger, inputting the Wi-Fi password and waiting for text messages to come through. Niall has sent him some about moving in safely and Louis sent him one telling him to get David to show him his kick-boxing moves. Zayn has also sent him a message thirty-three minutes ago. Harry stares at the ‘ _Hope everything goes well, call me if you need anything. Can’t wait for lunch aha :) x_ ’ for an unhealthy amount of time.

It isn’t until another message from Cho comes in to remind him that his first day of work is in two days that he puts down his phone and starts unpacking. He had spent an hour on the phone with his receptionist yesterday going over what he was to wear and say and _do_ when he got to work. It was comical to hear Cho laugh at him before reassuring him that she would run through it with him when he came into the office.

Still, Harry has a restless energy thrumming under his veins. He hangs up his dress shirts and puts his folded jeans on the top shelf. His socks go in his bedside drawer while a majority of his clothes still sit in a box by the end of the bed.

Sam Smith blares from his laptop as he sways his hips and croons to the music softly. He’s learned most of the words from his first album over the past couple of days and the words pull emotions out of Harry and let him _feel_. It’s liberating to sing along and feel connected to an artist as well as an album.

When everything is put away, Harry has a few more minutes until Sophia and the children come home so he grabs his phone and texts people back. He avoids messages from people he doesn’t know, like Ben and Jeff. Harry looked them up on Facebook, but being friends with married men in their forties was too strange for him to wrap his head around. There’s a message dating back from the day of Harry’s crash from someone named Cara inviting him to dinner with her girlfriend, but then there’s another the day after apologizing for his accident.

Harry replies to both Niall and Louis’ messages, even texting Cho to tell her that he’s all moved in and nervously excited for work in two days, and then he bites the bullet and messages Zayn, ‘ _I’ve got an appointment w the doctor tom. Want to come with me then lunch?_ ’

Zayn’s reply is instantaneous. A simple ‘ _You want me to come to your apmt?_ ’

‘ _I can’t drive yet._ ’ After rereading the message, Harry turns red with embarrassment and shame. It sounds downright rude and the tiniest bit harsh. ‘ _But of course I rly want you to come :)_ ’

Harry bounces his leg. Waiting and waiting and waiting for Zayn’s answer before it finally vibrates with a ‘ _Yeah of course I can take the day off._ ’

Harry chews his bottom lip and sprawls out on his stomach. He hadn’t thought until then that Zayn would actually have to take a day off. He doesn’t know if Zayn’s career can allow him to take the day off work on such short notice without being penalized and Christ, Harry doesn’t even know where Zayn works or what he does. Can they even afford to be taking so much time off? Do they have a nanny? Is Harry financially contributing to their family right now?

Harry panics and calls Zayn without a second thought. “Harry?”

“Yeah, hi. I – I can give you money.”

There’s shuffling around on the other side of the line. “What are you talking about?”

“Money. I mean. I – I haven’t been working. I didn’t, am I giving you money?”

Zayn chuckles down the line, a short burst of breath that has Harry chewing his thumbnail. “Don’t worry about that. We share a bank account, so.”

“Oh,” Harry hadn’t thought of that. He’s had zero reason to buy anything and spend money since he smashed his head and Anne took him in. “Oh, that’s-” _domestic_ , Harry wants to tell him. _Stable_ is another word that comes to mind. “I hadn’t thought about that.”

“Don’t worry. If you want to like, go shopping or buy gas or anything, our money is yours.”

“But I haven’t been making any,” Harry points out.

“You got compensation and we have more than enough. Don’t worry about it, honestly.”

Harry lays his head to the right and presses his cheek into the duvet. He lets out a long sigh and finds that he’s smiling afterwards. “Alright well. I thought I would ask.”

“I appreciate it.” Zayn laughs a bit and the tension in Harry’s chest unwinds. “Are you all settled in then?”

“Yeah. Don’t know how long I’ll be staying, but um – I was thinking after we grab lunch, we could go to the park or something with the girls. Not like, not the same day, but maybe – maybe on the weekend?”

“Yes” Zayn says, rather enthusiastically. Harry hears him clear his throat. “I mean yeah. Whatever you want Harry. But the girls would love that.”

“Okay.” Harry hears the front door shut, squealing and chatter filtering up to his room. “Sophia’s home with the kids, I’ve got to go.”

“Alright. Take care, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Harry murmurs his goodbye before steeling himself to make his way to the entrance room.

He’s greeted by two squeals and Sophia tearing up. David attacks his right leg, shoving his face into Harry’s thigh while Chloe sits on his foot and has a vice grip around his calf. Harry’s thankful she didn’t sit on the foot with his bad ankle. He only has to wear the brace if he’s going to be on his feet for a long period of time, so after unpacking he had taken it off and let his foot breathe.

“Hi,” Harry laughs, a bit watery from the warm welcome.

“Sophia, hi,” she introduces herself. The black blouse she’s wearing emphasizes her pregnant belly.

“Harry.” And before he can help himself, he blurts, “You’re gorgeous, shit.”

Liam’s chest puffs up a bit proudly, David shouting about curse words and the swear jar. Sophia just laughs it off though and steps around her children to embrace Harry into a hug. She smells like lavender.

“We’re having spag bol for supper. Wash up.”

“I want to sit on Uncle Harry’s lap,” David demands. Then he’s dashing off to what Harry assumes is the bathroom while Chloe scrambles up to follow her brother.

“Gave me a proper fright,” Sophia tells him, wiping under her eyes discreetly.

“Sorry. Can I-” he holds his hand up as if approaching a frightened animal when in all actuality he just wants to feel her bump. Sophia nods her consent and then Liam wanders off to the kitchen while Harry feels the bump and talks to her about cravings and aches and pains.

“Are you still soaking your feet in olive oil and salt?” Harry asks. He doesn’t remove his hand from where it’s resting underneath her belly button.

Sophia freezes in the middle of scratching her back. “You – how did you know that?”

“You did it for Chloe.”

“Did Liam tell you that? How did you know?”

“I just-” Harry flounders for a moment before doing a celebratory fist pump. “I remembered! Liam!” Harry races towards the kitchen to wrap his arms around Liam’s shoulders. He’s stirring the meat sauce in a pan while the water boils over the pot containing noodles.

Sophia explains a mile a minute what Harry remembered and why it’s significant, but all Harry can do is whip out his phone. He wants to text Nick, to celebrate the good news with him and have him be excited for Harry. He pauses and instead opens a new message to Zayn to tell him the news. Zayn’s response is a smiling emoji along with the party hat emoji. He sends three clapping hands alongside a ‘ _proud of you_ ’ that has Harry’s stomach flipping excitedly.

David dominates the conversation about nursery and football practice and how Beckham shared his HobNobs with him and Beckham tried to convince Amara to shove an entire banana in her mouth before Ms. Reyes caught on and almost gave them a time out. He babbles in the innocent way only a child can, between bites of cut up noodles and getting beef and tomato sauce all over his mouth. Chloe’s eating from a sparkly purple bowl, smashing her fork around and barely picking up anything.

“Amara tried to shove a whole banana in her mouth?” Harry asks.

“Well, she didn’t _really_. Beckham was telling her to though. They like each other.”

Harry guffaws; shock and a little bit of pride warming his chest. Amara sounds like trouble. He reckons if Beckham is anything like Louis that he is too. If Liam and Sophia’s identical snorts are anything to go by, this isn’t news.

“Really? What do they do?” Harry can’t help but ask.

Sophia hides her smile behind a dinner roll. Liam kicks Harry’s shin under the table. So what if he’s curious about his daughter? He’s only met her once and he’s fairly certain he traumatized her for life by having a freak out of massive proportion.

“Hold hands. We play family and they always get to be the parents.”

“Oh. Well I’m sure if you wanted to be a parent you could just ask.”

“No thank you. I play puppy.” David shrugs and licks the garlic spread off his bun. “One time they shared a pillow for nap time and got in time out.”

Harry can’t help but laugh this time. “Do you like anyone, David?”

David turns as red as his supper before shaking his head wildly. His curls fly everywhere.

“He won’t tell us,” Sophia confesses. She’s feeding Chloe with one hand and herself with the other.

David ducks his head. “It’s a secret.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Harry hums. “I’m very good at keeping secrets,” he whispers loud enough for everyone to hear. When David still doesn’t budge an inch, Harry turns in his seat so he can tickle under Chloe’s chin. “Miss Chloe.” She has spit running down her chin and noodles stick to her chubby cheeks. “Who’s _your_ crush?”

“Hawwee!” She squeals, kicking her little legs and tossing her spoon at him.

They share a laugh and Harry looks around the table. Liam looks so happy. He practically glows with how much pride he has for his family. He’s whispering something to David that has him in stitches in a second. He’s missing a front tooth and looks like a healthy child. Sophia’s staring at them fondly; one hand rests on her stomach as the other is stroking Chloe’s hair back.

It’s Harry’s first supper, first _night_ here and he doesn’t know how many more he has, but something swoops in his gut. Maybe it’s sheer delight from seeing his best mate so unabashedly happy. Maybe it’s joy that a family can possess so much love for each other. Or maybe it’s anticipation for Harry to feel like this with his own family.

~

Liam wakes up especially early just to wake Harry up and tease him about his ‘date’ with Zayn.

Harry didn’t mean to whack him in the dick – he had meant to smack him in the thigh, maybe the hip at the very highest – so it was a nice little treat that he was able to make Liam keel over and gasp. “I’m trying to be your _friend_ ,” Liam explains. “He’ll be here in an hour. Get some breakfast then get in the shower.”

“I’m gonna be sick,” Harry whines. His head hurts a bit today. It’s not anything a little medication can’t fix.

“Don’t be. Come on, you don’t want to be late.”

Harry is not late, no matter what Liam says. Zayn’s just _early_. Early by twenty minutes and Harry’s got a toothbrush hanging halfway out of his mouth and his shirt unbuttoned. David is near shouting in excitement as he leads Zayn throughout the house. Harry can hear their voices getting louder and louder, footfalls quickening as he spits and rinses out the sink.

“Hi,” Harry greets, lifting David into his arms to smack a good morning kiss against his forehead. He squirms out of Harry’s arms with a half-hearted whine before running off and away.

“Morning,” Zayn responds as he leans against the doorframe.

It’s not fair really, how good Zayn looks in the morning. His hair’s grown a bit and he’s allowed his facial hair to grow with it. He has little black studs in his ears and his wedding ring is snug around his finger. He’s wearing a loose leather jacket on top of a maroon coloured shirt that goes perfectly with his skinny jeans. He looks more like a motorcyclist than a married father of two.

“I’m almost ready,” Harry lies. His own outfit is subpar compared to Zayn’s. He has his skinny jeans on but his shirt is still flapping open. When he catches Zayn’s eyes on his stomach, maybe even lower, he hastens the pace on doing up the buttons.

“S’alright, I’m a little early.”

Zayn wanders off while Harry goes into his room. He tries to get his almost dry hair into some form of a bun without a mirror and tucks his phone into his pocket. The dull ache he feels when he looks at his phone and sees that there are no messages from Nick is mostly gone. He’ll focus on Zayn today, get some answers, and move forward with him.

He finds Zayn with Chloe in his arms, David eating a piece of peanut butter toast sitting adjacent from him.

“Ready,” he announces. He receives hugs from the adults and a sloppy kiss on the cheek from David. Chloe starts crying when Zayn hands her back to Sophia and she excuses the both of them when Chloe properly starts wailing.

Liam walks them down to Zayn’s car then hugs Harry before swinging an arm around Zayn’s shoulders and tugging him in for a hug. He mutters something that Harry can’t hear through the window before Zayn’s sliding into the driver’s seat much like he had after their lad’s night.

“Nervous?” Zayn asks, turning up the volume on the radio. He must notice the way Harry’s tossing a banana from hand to hand.

“A bit. I just, I want to get my memory back,” Harry admits. He settles into the seat and peels the banana, bottom first.

“You taught the girls to eat a banana like that, y’know.”

Harry snorts, choking slightly.

“Amara’s nursery teacher called you in a huff over it and you marched down to the school and told her that was the proper way to eat a banana and that humans ate them incorrectly.”

“I said that?”

“Oh yeah. I had to pick her up for a month. You were so embarrassed.”

Harry’s delighted by that revelation as he sits back and enjoys his banana.

They let the music play as Zayn drives the short twenty minutes from Wandsworth to the hospital. Zayn hums and turns on the heater.

“How are the girls?”

“Fine. Amara’s excited for the football camps this summer. We’ve got to sign her up.”

“Sure. Also, David told me that Amara has a little crush on Beckham.”

Zayn snorts before scratching his nose. Harry tries not to stare at the gleaming wedding band on Zayn’s ring finger. It keeps catching his eye. “Oh, it’s more than a crush. Beckham’s eleven days older than Mar and they were always just drawn together. They shared a crib every time we’d get together with Lou and his ex-”

“Who’s that again?”

“Eleanor.” Harry hums and Zayn barrels on. “It’s awful. They still guilt us into having them share a bed when they have sleepovers and they run around and play football and cause chaos. We had to sign them up for the same bloody nursery program even though Louis and El lived like, twenty minutes farther away.”

“Sounds like a handful.”

“They are. They’re really sweet though.”

Harry wonders how many memories he’s been a part of with Amara and Beckham. He wonders if he encouraged their codependency or if he just watched from a distance. He has a feeling it was the former. Zayn tells him more about the mischief they get up to together – how they had to start forcing them to include Madeline now that she can walk and talk and eat big kid food with them. Zayn informs Harry that Madeline and Chloe spend their playdates babbling and watching Peppa Pig in a play pen while David, Amara, and Beckham run outside.

Harry smiles and nods along, humming at all the right parts. He feels a tiny bit closer to Zayn and the children through the tales he’s told. He’s grateful for the accommodation Zayn so easily provides him and how he’s willing to just hand over his phone and let Harry skim through the latest pictures he’s taken.

He stops on a video of Madeline and Amara sitting in the bathtub stark naked. Madeline’s splashing and has a pink crown in her hand. Amara has her arms folded and is giving the camera a _very_ unimpressed glare. “Baba, you don’t sing the bathtub song right.” Amara speaks with a lazy little accent that Harry can barely hear. She has the same little lilt as Zayn.

“I sang it exactly like daddy does! Right Mady?” On-camera Zayn asks.

“No!” She squeals, hurling the crown at Zayn. Harry smiles at the phone as the screen shakes.

“You’ll make a mess Mady stop that.” Madeline automatically stops her splashing and begins poking at Amara’s arm instead.

“Don’t _touch me_!” Amara shrieks and then Madeline’s crying. Harry doesn’t recognize Zayn’s laugh until the video stops playing and he’s still chuckling in his seat.

“They’re so cute,” Harry comments, a smile playing at his lips.

“They’re a nightmare,” Zayn corrects.

Harry couldn’t imagine doing this on his own. Bath time and supper, shuffling the children from school to extra-curricular activities, all while working. Louis’ words repeat in his head, _Zayn never signed up to do this alone._

Before Harry can ask Zayn how he’s faring, he realizes that they’re reverse stall parking across the street from the hospital. Harry takes a deep breath before pushing the door open.

He wipes his sweaty hands down the tops of his thighs and thanks Zayn when he holds open the hospital door for him. They navigate the hospital with practiced ease. Harry’s stomach’s a pit of dread at what Dr. Carlton might say to them. He doesn’t want to hear bad news.

Olive gives Harry a big hug when she sees him. She fusses over his ankle and feels his forehead as if he’s an ill child. The hug she gives Zayn seems comfortable, as if she had spent days upon days reassuring him that everything would work out. “Glad to see you’re here together,” Olive tells them. She gives Harry a wink that’s not very covert.

Zayn manages a laugh while Harry tries not to blush too deeply.

“How are the girls, Zayn? Are they helping around the house?”

“Of course. You’ve got Amara making her own bed and flushing the toilet after herself.”

“Aw, bless her,” Olive preens. She shuttles them into an office to wait for Dr. Carlton.

The door snicks shut behind her until it’s just Harry and Zayn again. There are diagrams and charts of body parts; there’s a massive poster of the effects of smoking and a poster warning against alcohol consumption during pregnancy.

“What did you mean when you said Olive had Amara making her own bed?” Harry asks, curiosity getting the better of him.

“Before you were discharged,” Zayn starts, turning to face Harry, “Olive gave Amara a little lecture. You know… Be a big girl, help your baba-”

“What’s baba?”

“It’s like, dad in Arabic. They call you daddy and I’m baba.”

“Oh. Oh, that’s cute. Are we going to teach the girls Arabic? I know you speak Urdu, but…”

Zayn shrugs. “Well, I don’t speak Arabic, I can only read it. As for Urdu, it’s like… We talked about it, but I rarely speak it. It’s more like, talking with elders, some short phrases.”

“I’ll learn,” Harry offers. “Unless I know it already.”

“You know some. You know basic terms like boyfriend, my love, uh, stuff like that.”

A soft knock brings them out of the conversation. Harry clutches Zayn’s hand in panic when Dr. Carlton steps into the room.

“Mr. Malik,” Dr. Carlton nods at Harry before realizing they’re both named that. “It’s great to see you’re both here together.”

Harry feels Zayn shift away from him, crossing his legs. Thankfully, he doesn’t pull his hand away.

“It’s um, nice to be here together,” Harry says, feeling his hands start to get clammy.

Dr. Carlton laughs. “Let’s get right down to it then. We have about half an hour.”

Harry slips his hand out from under Zayn’s and rubs them together. He stares at the digital clock on the desk and feels his anxiety rise. No pleasantries then.

From then on, Dr. Carlton starts asking questions. What has Harry remembered? Has he been having any reoccurring dreams? Night terrors? Anxiety attacks? Harry answers as honestly as possible. He hasn’t had many dreams, but he wakes up in the middle of the night sometimes sweaty and needing a wee. His heart races when he wakes some mornings and he has to walk down to the kitchen and drink water to stop his hands from shaking.

“And how is life at home? How are you adjusting to being a father?”

“Oh I’m not-”

“We don’t want to overwhelm him,” Zayn answers. He casts a reassuring side glance to Harry.

Dr. Carlton’s brows furrow. “It’s important that Harry is reintroduced to his old way of living. We found a dramatic increase in recovery for amnesiac patients who went back to work and lived in the house they previously had. That is, if you’d like to make it easier for your brain to recover.”

“I do.”

“Then you should really think about what is best for you as well as your family. It may be uncomfortable and we do see some of our amnesiac patients unable to fulfill their familial duties when returning from hospital stays. But the key is to push your limits. If it doesn’t work, then it’s best to know now than three months down the line when you still have children and a husband waiting for you.”

Harry swallows thickly. He chances a glance at Zayn and sees that he too looks wary.

“Six years are gone, I understand that Harry. But take some time, a few days to a week, and seriously think about what is best for you and your family.”

“I will.” Harry promises, staring at his wedding ring.

“I can give you the number to one of our counsellors. A lot of patients suffer with feelings of guilt when deciding what to do.” Dr. Carlton turns in his spinning chair to grab at three business cards that sit in holders by his computer. “One for the girls too, just in case they’re struggling with this.”

Zayn takes the cards and slips them into his pocket with a quiet thank you.

“Alright. Well let’s take a look at your ankle then get another blood test and an MRI scan.”

~

Zayn takes Harry to a hole in the wall pizza joint. The dining area’s crowded and a single server is bustling around trying to get everyone’s orders.

Zayn gets a beer and Harry gets a diet cola; a mushroom and pineapple pizza ordered for them to split.

“You hate this place,” Zayn tells Harry with a small little smile.

“I love pizza,” Harry counters. Zayn was relatively quiet after Harry’s visit with Dr. Carlton and it left Harry feeling frustrated and neglected. He’s making the effort here, inviting Zayn out, including him in everything that has to do with his recovery while Zayn sits back idly and texts on his phone.

“You do. It’s just usually with homemade dough and spinach with chicken or something.”

“I make my own dough?”

Zayn nods, taking a sip of the beer quickly set in front of him. “Religiously. We keep a few in the freezer for when we don’t have enough time to make dinner.”

“Oh. Oh, I don’t think I know how to make dough anymore.”

Zayn shrugs dismissively. “I’m fine with this pizza.” He sends Harry a conspiring smile. “It’s greasier.”

Right on cue, the server rushes by them with a large pepperoni. The aroma that follows it has Harry’s mouth watering. He can’t imagine cutting this out of his life.

“God, that smells good. So tell me more about how we got together.”

“University.”

“No like, when? Was I still with Grimmy?” Harry’s curiosity gets the best of him.

“Nah. We were in the shitty student pub. Liam invited me but I had an essay to finish so I came later.” Zayn splays his hands out in front of them on the table. Harry’s eyes catch the mandala on Zayn’s hand. “You were smashed and puking in the bathroom by the time I came and since I was the only sober one, Liam sent me in to check on you. I was calling your name and when you came out you just stared at me for five minutes before washing up. You were murmuring about me being an angel. Just kept saying ‘angel.’” He deepens his voice in a scarily accurate accent. “You bought me a beer.”

“That’s not romantic.” Harry thinks back to what he might have looked like back then. “How old were we?”

“You were nineteen, I was twenty.”

“Do you have pictures of what we looked like?” Zayn nods, extracting his phone. He hands it to Harry. It’s titled ‘first year.’ There are 62 pictures of them in what Harry assumes to be their first year of being a couple.

There are countless pictures of them that hadn’t been on Harry’s computer. Some of them are sweet; with their arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders grinning madly at one another. Some are a bit more intimate; moments that were clearly meant for just the two of them like Zayn’s face illuminated by candlelight and of Harry lying in a bed with the sheets halfway down his chest, a soft and sleepy smile playing at his lips.

In the pictures, Zayn’s hair is always perfect. Well, it looks perfect. The sides are shaved and his quiff always stands high without looking like it took ages to style.

“How long did it take for you to do your hair like that?”

“Half an hour,” Zayn admits. His beer is halfway finished. “You’d mess it up in about a minute.”

“It looks good,” Harry hums. He thumbs through a couple more until he reaches the end of the album.

“Thanks. You went through a phase of trying to do the whole,” he makes a floppy gesture, “thing, but it didn’t look nearly as good.”

“Oh, thanks,” Harry says sarcastically. Zayn’s eyes crinkle.

Their server brings the pizza before dashing off again and Harry’s thankful for it. Zayn doesn’t seem to be initiating much of the conversation and it’s maddening how much effort Harry’s putting into this. He should have made a checklist of topics to talk about before coming here as it seems like Zayn’s not offering any.

The first bite burns the roof of Harry’s mouth. Zayn’s there though, already handing Harry his glass of icy cola to wash it down with. “Thanks,” Harry says. He takes a minute to blow on the pizza a few times before taking a smaller, more careful bite. It really is good. Grease floats around his tongue; cheese melts further in his mouth. The pineapples are tangy and juicy, mushrooms soft.

They polish off the entire thing in relative silence. There are some appreciative moans here and there along with music playing underneath the sounds of other patrons laughing and talking loudly. Harry feels stuffed to the brim.

“It’ll be nice that you can drive now.”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, thankful that Zayn starts the conversation now that their food is gone. “Do I have a car? I mean, if we share one, you can have it. Obviously, but-”

“We only have the one car. You work 15 minutes by foot, but most of the time you ride your bike so it’s like, 5 or something.”

“Oh. That’s practical.”

Zayn laughs, polishing off his beer. “We’ll have to get another bike for you though.”

“Okay,” Harry grins nervously. He’s apprehensive to get back on a bike this time. A tightness takes over his chest. He hasn’t thought of riding a bicycle. Harry has actively pushed any and all thoughts of riding one out of his mind. “Maybe a helmet too?”

“‘Course. There’s no way you’re riding without one anymore.”

Harry nods, calmer. “We can go shopping for that later. I can walk to the office for now.”

“It’ll be good, some light walking. And now that you don’t have to wear your ankle brace, it will be easier.”

“I’m excited that’s off. It made my feet stink.”

“Your feet always stank.” Zayn teases. “S’nice that you can drink now though. Don’t have to hide it.”

“In my defense I thought it would be fine.” Harry’s cheeks flush. Zayn gives him a look. It’s one of disbelief with a little bit of fond thrown into the mix. He’s probably given it to Amara and Mady on more than one occasion. “I shouldn’t have, I know. But this time I can drink more. Only have to take my meds if I ‘get a persistent migraine.’” He quotes in his best Dr. Carlton accent. It’s not a good one as he’s Scottish.

“You still can’t hold your liquor for shit.” Zayn’s tongue pokes out from behind his teeth as he smiles.

Harry kicks him under the table as payback. “We’ll see about that. We should get sweets with the girls. I want a million Double Decker’s.”

“There’s a sweets shop across from the park we’re going to. We can take them if they’re good.”

“Thank _God_. I’ve been craving them for ages.”

“You never eat chocolates.” Zayn says.

“Really?”

Their server brings the bill and Harry’s shooting his hand out to grab it. “We share accounts,” Zayn reminds him, a twisted little smile on his face.

“Let me at least _pretend_.”

Zayn does, thanking Harry for splurging on their meal.

“You’re insufferable,” Harry tells him brushing their fingertips together. “Want to go explore?”

“Sure.”

Harry points out shop signs as they walk. Some are quirky and some have graphic designs from clipart. He peers in shop windows and reads discounts signs. He takes in the rays of sun, so rare for the usual dreary English Aprils. It’s not warm, but it is bright and it feels like a sign to Harry.

In the back of his mind though, he’s always painfully aware of how close, or how _far_ really, Zayn is from him.

So he takes it into his own hands to keep accidentally bumping them together. Lunch was a bit stilted and Harry still feels sort of uncomfortable in Zayn’s presence. He doesn’t know what they usually talk about, but he has a feeling it’s more than just showing Harry pictures and telling him about yelling at teachers.

“Harry,” Zayn says, stopping them just as they’re about to cross the street. Harry turns abruptly, caught off guard by the way the sun shines on his face. His eyes practically sparkling. “Have you been trying to hold my hand?”

Like a deer in headlights, Harry’s eyes enlarge. “I-”

“I’m just teasing ya.” Zayn’s eyes crinkle in what can only be described as _adorably_. Still, he nudges their hands together as they make their way back to the car.

~

“You never told me what you do,” Harry says later, once they’re in the car.

“I’m an art therapist.”

“Really?” Harry can’t hide the surprise. He had figured it would be something with flexible hours. Maybe something with children or, Harry doesn’t _know_ what he thought because he doesn’t really _know_ Zayn.

“Mhmm,” Zayn nods. “I love it. It took a while to like, build a clientele, but it’s been worth it.”

“What do you do then? As an art therapist?”

“Just like,” Zayn waves a hand around. “I have this one man. He’s a fifty-three year old American who moved to England twenty years ago because his wife divorced him and his children abandoned him when he got PTSD from the navy. He barely talked when I first started meeting with him three years ago and we would paint and draw and he would always paint with the most vibrant colours.” Zayn’s not looking at Harry, but he can see the smile pulling at the corner of his lips. “He never really spoke about anything. He would come in and paint and then take his painting with him when he left. Then after about two months of meeting three times a week he just came in with tears in his eyes and presented me with this beautiful abstract of yellow and red to form all these shades of orange. He told me he spent all night painting it and couldn’t wait to show me. It was like, this a-ha moment.”

“That’s beautiful. Does he still come in?”

“Once a week now. We talk and paint. He still has flashbacks and nightmares, but he has an easel set up in his home so he can paint when he feels anxious. He’s got a girlfriend who’s just as sweet as he is and she comes and picks him up.”

“That’s brilliant. It must be rewarding.”

“Most of the time,” Zayn admits. “Another girl, she was about five and was sexually assaulted. She went mute and would only talk to her mum. She failed her nursery classes so her mum brought her to me and we finger painted animals. I would make animal noises for each one she did and then eventually she would too.”

“Oh my God,” Harry says, stunned. “That’s sad. That’s so sad, but the fact you were able to talk to her. That must have been amazing.”

“Yeah.” Zayn slows to a stop at a red light and looks over. “Other patients have depression or anxiety attacks and art takes their mind off of it and gives them something to focus on. Sometimes we talk about it while we draw or sometimes they tell me about their week or their friends.”

“That’s amazing, Zayn. Really.”

“Thanks. You always encouraged me into it. I did my fine arts degree through Slade at UCL then had to go up to Hertfordshire for two years of my arts therapy programme.”

“That’s not so bad.”

“Nope. We lived in this shitty studio apartment on Fitzroy near Maple and once I finished my degree we got married.”

“Was I even done school?” Harry asks, astonished. Zayn shakes his head. “When did we get engaged?”

“August 2014. We got married in May 2015.”

“That’s a short engagement. We weren’t even together for two years. I bet everyone thought we were crazy.”

Zayn doesn’t laugh as Harry had expected him to. He doesn’t even crack a smile. “It was a small ceremony.”

“Was Gemma there?”

“‘Course she was.”

“Well, where is she now?”

“Australia.”

Harry sighs. The buildings are starting to look more familiar. “Can you tell me the truth? My mum got mad when I brought her up.”

“We’re almost at Liam’s.”

“Tell me the condensed version, please.” Harry’s not opposed to begging. The yearning to find out where Gemma is and where their relationship stands will keep him up all night if he doesn’t find out.

“She got in a fight with Anne. It was like, her against Anne and then we were dragged into it and lasted for a while before it got really messy. Gemma just kind of left. You haven’t spoken in almost three years.”

“How were we dragged into it?”

“Just… it’s a bit of a tender subject.”

Harry twists in his seat and lowers the volume. “Please Zayn. I need to know, she was my best friend.”

“Gemma wanted to go to Prague for grad school because of the distance, but your mum didn’t want to pay for it. It got heated and some things were said about that before it shifted to our engagement. Your mum wasn’t a fan of how short our engagement was. We invited her to the wedding, but she didn’t come. Gemma came and so did the boys. My parents and sisters were there too, but your mum never came and Gemma walked you up to me.”

“So… so my mum and I, we’re not close? We’re not like, not as close as she made it seem when I woke up?”

“Not exactly.”

“Okay. Okay, that’s – thanks.”

Zayn squeezes Harry’s hand. It’s warm and Harry turns his clammy hand over so he can intertwine their fingers. “We’re here.”

“Thanks Zayn. For coming with me and – thanks.”

“Anytime. I’m a ten minute walk away.”

Harry grins and gets out of the car. He hears Zayn’s door shut as well and attempts to contain the happiness blossoming inside of him.

He spins around and grabs one of Zayn’s hands.

“I had a great date.”

Zayn’s eyebrows raise, smirking before a breath of laugher is punched out of him. “Was this a date then?”

Harry snags Zayn’s other hand and swings them between their bodies. “Yes. I invited you then paid for you.”

Zayn opens his mouth for a rebuttal, but Harry cuts him off. “And I _know_ your money is my money and my money is yours, but let me pretend.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you want.”

“Good. I can see why this marriage works.” It’s meant to be a joke, but Zayn’s face falls a bit before he’s smiling softly.

“Have a good rest of your day. I’ll see you on Saturday.” Zayn darts in for a quick hug. For a fleeting moment, Harry had thought he was going for a kiss and although they had a good date, Harry’s not ready for that.

“Saturday,” Harry agrees before unlocking the door and slipping inside.

~

Harry walks ten minutes to the Tesco Express and makes it back in time to get started on dinner. It’s a simple roast and Yorkshire pud. He had a mean craving for gravy when he redressed into joggers and a comfortable t-shirt.

Sophia tears up when she sees what he’s made. She kisses both of his cheeks before sitting David down to play with his plastic abacus and put Chloe in her pen to play with her stuffy toys.

Liam comes home and promptly waltzes Sophia around the room before doing the same with Harry. It’s light and fun and everyone enjoys the meal he’s made. David is loud as he talks about how he hung upside down on the climbing frame until their teacher came out to yell at him. Liam scolds him, but Harry catches the look of pride he sends his son. Harry asks about Amara and David tells him that they played dress up and she was a mermaid alien while he was a space cowboy and Beckham was a fire fighting footballer.

Harry loads the dishwasher and sets up a foot soak for Sophia. They settle in and have a glass of wine, fizzy apple juice for Soph.

Harry doesn’t realize he’s been talking about his day with Zayn until he notices that Liam and Sophia are sharing a knowing look. “What?” He pouts, crossing his arms and nearly spilling his wine.

“Nothing.” Liam says at the same time Sophia says, “You’re so cute!”

“It’s not – it wasn’t… It was a bit awkward. There were times when neither of us said anything, but I think it’s going well. I didn’t think about Nick all day.”

“And you shouldn’t,” Liam mutters. Sophia elbows him hard enough for him to yelp. “Sorry. Tell us more then, what was he wearing?”

“You saw him this morning.” Harry sends him his most murderous glare before sipping his wine. “But he looked really nice. He’s gorgeous. He told me when we got married everyone thought it happened really quick.”

“It was a bit quick,” Sophia says. “It was beautiful though.”

“What’d we do? Zayn never said.”

“It was in a small park. You were both in all black and Zayn had this Danny Zuko look and your hair was all long and curly. Liam had a bit of a beard, it was very cave-man-y.”

“Oh, so you came too?”

Sophia nods, readjusting the way she’s sitting. Water splashes out from the side of her foot soaker. “It was Niall, Liam, Gemma, and I on your side and Louis, Eleanor, and Zayn’s family on his side.”

“That’s Safaa, Waliyha, and Doniya right?” When Liam nods Harry beams with pride. “I looked them up on Facebook last night again in case it came up today.”

“You’re doing good Harry,” Liam reassures. “We’re all massively proud of you.”

Harry finishes his wine, refilling the glass with a smile.

~

Harry’s day starts at 7am with a frantic call to Cho.

He wakes up in a blind panic ten minutes before his alarm is due and pukes in the toilet until David comes in to complain that Harry woke him up. Harry’s got bile coming out of the corner of his mouth and smells like sick. David scampers away to get Liam despite Harry’s insistence that he’s fine.

His eyes are watery and his breath is ragged, chest heaving. He closes his eyes and breathes in steadily before letting it out in a shaky breath. He does it over and over staring at himself in the mirror until he feels more like himself. He takes a quick shower and doesn’t mind that he smells like the mango watermelon kiddie shampoo and then calls Cho when he’s in a pair of boxers and staring at his closet.

“I told you all of this already Harry. You have a pair of khakis that you like to wear and when you want to be comfortable you usually wear a pair of scrubs.”

“But what about for a top?” Harry chews on the skin beside his thumbnail. It’s white and ragged around the edge.

“You have a shirt here Harry. It really doesn’t matter, no one cares.”

“What about shoes? I only have boots here. And my hair?”

Cho sighs long and loud, exasperation clear. “Zayn already dropped off your shoes and you can tie your hair up or wear a headband. I don’t even have to be at work for another two hours.”

“Oh. Did I wake you up?”

“ _Yes_. Do some yoga, go for a run. I don’t care, but I don’t want to hear from you again until nine.”

“Alright, alright. I know when I’m not wanted.” Harry hangs up and flops onto his borrowed bed. It’s like cardboard compared to the light and fluffy mattress that was at Anne’s house, but – but Harry doesn’t regret moving out. He didn’t like Anne’s cryptic-ness and her avoidance around the topic of Gemma.

Harry shakes the feeling and gets on with his morning.

~

Harry walks up three flights of stairs to get to the floor that contains his clinic. His name is engraved on a plaque alongside three others on the office door. He had passed the main floor which had a small little café and a walk-in clinic with a pharmacy. The second floor consisted of doctor offices along with the two floors above his. Cho had said he was mates with pretty much everyone in the building, including the janitors, but as Harry passes people who wave and pat his back, he’s never felt so isolated.

Which is why he gives Cho a big hug at reception. She doesn’t ask him how he is or ask where he parked. She compliments his hair and his pants before showing him to his office where he’s met with balloons. It’s not a proper work day, which Harry finds out once he walks into the staff room and sees a coconut ice cream cake poorly hidden in the freezer. He meets his coworkers one by one and shakes all of their hands, staying close to Cho because she’s kind and familiar. Cho lets him sit behind the reception desk and spin around in a chair while clients come in and she reacquaints him with how the office runs.

He eats far too many toffees and is on a sugar buzz by the time Cho brings him into the staff room for a surprise party. Harry fakes a gasp when he sees the three other massage therapists standing around the small cake expectantly. What is a surprise is that Zayn’s leaning against the office refrigerator with a small little smile.

“Hi,” Harry breathes, smiling wide. He pulls Zayn into a hug because it feels like the right thing to do. “Didn’t think I’d see you for a few days.”

“Heard there’d be cake,” Zayn shrugs. He takes the plate that Rita? Raina? – hands him then digs in. It tastes a bit off. Harry makes a face. “It’s gluten-free. And made with coconut milk. It’s your favourite.”

Harry tentatively takes another bite. It tastes like chalk. He screws up his nose. “I like this?”

“It’s the only ice cream cake you’ll eat.”

“Why?” Harry hands Zayn the cake they’ve been splitting.

Zayn doesn’t respond despite Harry’s genuinely befuddlement. “Has Harry actually been working today?” Zayn asks.

“No. He ate his weight in Cho’s toffees.” Maxx teases. He’s blonde and at least half a foot taller than Zayn. He looks like he belongs in some white washed Hawaiian vacation magazine, but his Russian accent gives him away.

“You ate a toffee?” Zayn asks. He looks incredulous. His eyebrows are high up on his forehead and one eye is reduced to a tiny slit. His upper lip curls.

“Try seven!” Cho pipes up.

“Stop,” Harry whines, blushing. “Why’s that so bad?”

“You don’t eat refined sugar. It makes your stomach hurt.”

“Oh.” It’s quite sad really, that there are all these quirks in Harry’s life that he doesn’t know about. That he can’t just eat what he wants without feeling guilty towards his former self.

“We can get you a real ice cream cake,” Rita/Raina offers. Three quarters of the cake is gone.

Harry shakes his head. “Thanks, but. It’s alright. I like the coconut flakes.” To prove his point he plucks a chunk of coconut covered icing off the plate Zayn’s holding and licks his finger, Zayn’s eyes following.

It’s just past noon and Harry’s already feeling sick from the amount of sugar he’s consumed. Zayn’s right, it does make his stomach ache. Better his stomach than his head, he thinks belatedly.

“Remi you’ve got an appointment in fifteen,” Cho reminds not-Rita/not-Raina.

Remi nods, waving goodbye with her mouth stuffed with the rest of her cake. Maxx follows her and so does the other woman, Traci, with a half-hearted wave.

“Are you staying?” Harry asks Zayn as Cho begins to clean up.

“Nah. I just came for the cake.”

“You don’t even _like_ coconut flakes. I put them in those giant cookies and didn’t think you would be able to tell and you spat it out on the first bite.”

Harry realizes what he’s said the second it’s out of his mouth.

“Harry!” Zayn shouts right as Harry wraps his arms around Zayn in a victorious hug. “Oh my God,” Zayn says sounding on the verge of tears. He kisses Harry’s cheek, just a quick press of lips really, before he’s drawing back. Out of Harry’s space and out of his arms. “Sorry,” says Zayn, looking at the ground.

“No it’s, it’s alright. Come on. Come hug me again.” Harry holds on tight this time. The overwhelming sense of pride from remembering something washes over Harry until he’s left buzzing with energy. Zayn squeezes him tightly, arms around Harry’s midsection as he holds on.

Zayn buries his face in Harry’s neck and this close he smells so good that Harry takes a deep inhale and tries to memorize the scent. There’s nothing hesitant or awkward about the way they cling to each other. Harry could hold on forever, probably, maybe.

Zayn pulls back and offers a wide smile. “I’m so glad I don’t like coconut.”

“Me too. Fuck.”

It’s the first memory Harry’s had of Zayn and it’s not a conversation they’ve had or a moment frozen in time, but it’s something. God, is it ever something.

~

On Thursday, after working in the office for a grand total of two and a half days, Harry plucks up the courage to message Gemma again. He opens up his e-mail since she doesn’t seem to be responding to his text messages and types out what he hopes is a message that will get her attention. It’s quite simple, a ‘ _I was hit by a car while riding my bike and forgot six years of memories. Woke up and still thought I was engaged to Nick and you were at Sheffield. Miss you loads, please get in touch. I need my big sister. All the love, H xx_ ’

He shuts his laptop down and SnapChats Niall a picture of him with his hair in a messy bun going cross-eyed. Things with Niall have been steadily improving to the point where Harry texts him numerous times throughout the day. Niall’s eccentric and hilarious, sending videos of him strumming a guitar or playing golf. It seems that all Niall does is relax all day. It’s not necessarily true though, as a part-time music teacher at an independent school in the city, he makes enough to spend his nights at the driving range.

Harry’s also been messaging Louis a few times. He’s much more prickly than Niall. He doesn’t send him jokes or tell him random facts about his day, but he sends Harry pictures of the two of them or Beckham and Amara together when they were growing up. Harry suspects, that under the guarded and hard exterior, Louis’ an actual softie. It’s going to take a while though, Harry finds, with the way Louis waits three to four hours before responding to a single message.

Liam is easier to talk to as he spends an extensive amount of time with both him and Sophia. He feels a bit bad though when he keeps them up until eleven at night to talk and watch the news. It would probably be easier for them to kick him out – shag and spend time with just the two of them. They don’t complain though and more times than not they’re knocking on his door to invite him to play Scrabble or watch Britain’s Got Talent reruns.

By the time Saturday rolls around, Harry’s buzzing with energy to meet his children; properly this time. He hopes he hasn’t scarred Amara too much by freaking out when she ran into his hospital room and if Zayn’s reassurances are anything to go by, she’s not. He hasn’t even met Mady yet, but he’s eager to hold her chubby body in his arms and kiss her round cheeks.

Harry makes blueberry pancakes for the household and then extra for when his family comes over. He keeps them in a dish in the oven while he takes a piping hot shower. He leaves the conditioner in for as long as he can afford before washing it out and scrubbing all over his body. He shaves afterwards, with a towel wrapped around his waist, before flipping his head upside down to blow dry his hair.

It’s a frizzy mess when all is said and done and no amount of taming serum or brushing reduces it.

“Liam,” Harry moans when his bun sags pathetically. “Liam, help.”

Liam is useless, laughing at Harry as soon as he steps into the guest room.

“What the hell are you wearing mate?”

Harry’s got his work khakis on and a green jumper hanging off his shoulder.

“It’s family friendly,” Harry frowns.

“You look like an idiot.”

“Well what should I wear then? Everything is either see-through or low cut and my jeans are all skin tight.” Harry looks at the pathetic pile of clothes spread around his room. “I can’t go. Oh my God. I have nothing to wear. This is, this is _not_ appropriate for a park!”

“That’s what you wear. You literally wear this top,” Liam holds up a sheer red top with flowers and leaves patterned onto it, “with these.” He tosses Harry a pair of tight fitting white pants. They’re stretchy, but not _that_ stretchy. And it looks like there’s no room for his balls. “To take the kids out for a walk.”

“Oh. I could. I mean, I like this top.” He selects a black silk one with leaves. “But that might get dirty if we play, um… how about this one.” Harry strips out of the jumper and pulls the grey Henley over his head. It’s tight in the shoulders, but make his abs look amazing.

“That’s Zayn’s.” Liam has a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Oh, should I take it off?”

“Oh no. He’ll like it.”

Harry grins back, tying his hair into a successful bun. “Great, well. Thanks Lime.”

“Have you been talking to Louis?”

Harry stops dressing with his pants halfway up his thighs. “Yes.” He says, then, “Why?”

Liam laughs and pinches Harry’s cheeks. “Beckham couldn’t pronounce Liam for the longest time. He’d only call me Lime so Louis started to too and once we began telling him my name was Liam, he’d start crying.”

“Oh my God.”

“It took months to correct him.”

“Yeah, I bet.” Harry says with a bit of hysterical laugh. “I’m gonna go get the pancakes out. Zayn said they left just as I started to freak out.”

“Don’t be nervous, alright Harry? They’re your kids, they love you unconditionally.”

Harry had skived off breakfast and refused his normal cup of tea in favour of warm water with cinnamon. His stomach turned the entirety of his shower and waiting for the doorbell to ring makes his thigh shake and his toes tap.

“Uncle Harry can we come to the park with you?” David asks. He puts his tiny hands on Harry’s knee and doesn’t even begin to cover it.

“I’m afraid not David.” Harry hoists David up by the armpits. He checks the microwave clock. “Mum’s at your grans and you’re going to zoo with your dad and Miss Clo.”

“But I want to play with Amara.” David’s lower lip quivers, eyes turning wide and sad like Liam’s still do.

“Not today, but you will soon David, promise.”

“Pinky promise?” He sticks one hand while popping the thumb of the other into his mouth.

“Promise,” Harry wraps his pinky around David’s tiny one and shakes on it. When the doorbell rings, David’s squirming out of his lap to run and get it. Harry follows, but he’s not fast enough. David has the door yanked open and is wrapping himself around Zayn’s legs before he’s even stepping inside the house.

“Daddy!” Amara shrieks, running straight to Harry.

Harry’s bends down and plucks her off her feet. He tucks her into his hip and squeezes her tightly. Her little legs, covered in fuchsia leggings wrap around his waist. She smells like watermelon shampoo and it smells familiar, safe. He kisses her head then her cheeks then her face, unable to help himself. The expected awkwardness never comes as she giggles and keeps squealing wildly.

“Hi,” Zayn says, pulling out of his hug with Liam. He’s got Madeline asleep in his arms and a bag over his shoulder. “She sleeps like a rock,” Zayn comments.

Amara’s blabbering about being hungry and wanting pancakes while Mady snuffles in her sleep. Harry places Amara in David’s booster seat while he sits in a grown up chair and talks about not coming to the park, but going to the zoo.

“Daddy, you’re so silly. Those aren’t yoga clothes.”

Harry doesn’t miss the way Zayn’s eyes travel from his shoulders to his waist and back up again. He smirks.

“Yoga clothes?” Harry asks, scooping Mady from Zayn’s arms. She’s in yellow leggings and a white top, her feet are in Velcro shoes and she looks so small in his arms he almost has a heart attack. Her cheeks are so chubby and her arms and legs even chubbier.

“We’re doing _yoga_ ,” Amara says with a roll of her eyes. She shoves half a pancake in her mouth. “We always do yoga in the park, remember?”

“Amara, watch your tone,” Zayn chastises. “What did we say about seeing daddy?”

“Be nice.”

“And?”

“Patient,” she groans. She shovels the next half in her mouth, covered in syrup.

Liam chokes out a laugh while Harry grins at how resigned she sounds.

“Good girl,” Zayn ruffles her hair even though it’s in two neat pigtails and kisses her forehead. “Now ask daddy nicely if he’ll go change because he looks a bit silly for the park.”

“Daddy please change because you looks a bit silly for the park.”

Harry drops his mouth open and stares at Amara. “Baba’s wearing jeans!”

“Baba doesn’t _do_ yoga daddy, duh.” David giggles while Amara rolls her eyes.

“Mar,” Zayn warns.

“I _know_. Sorry for rolling my eyes baba.”

“I’ll take a marble from your jar next time, alright?”

“ _Yes_ , okay.”

Zayn rolls his eyes himself this time. “She’s been a nightmare all morning,” he tells Harry. “But go change, let’s go, I’ll take Mady.”

Harry takes the stairs two at a time. He changes into a pair of shorts and his Hot N Hard _Kiss_ shirt.

By the time he gets downstairs, Amara and David are wrestling in the living room. He has her pinned to the ground by her shoulders, but her legs are wriggling free.

“Do I need anything else?” He asks.

“I’ve got it. Amara, come on, before your sister wakes up.”

David finally gets off Amara, both of them flushed and panting.

“I was gone five minutes,” he comments, scooping Amara into his arms because he can’t help himself.

They hug Liam goodbye then make their way to the small park between Liam and Zayn’s neighbourhoods.

Amara’s chatty the entire time, content to pull on Harry’s bun and kiss his ear. “I’m all full. I’m gonna poop myself in downward dog.”

Harry barks out a laugh, the loud squawk that normally embarrasses him. “Amara.”

“It’s healthy to poop. That’s what you always say.”

“Oh my God,” Harry says scandalized. He turns to Zayn for support only to find him already shaking his head.

“You do say that babe.”

It comes out so casual, Harry nearly misses it.

“Heyyy,” Amara whines. She kicks Harry’s stomach, too hard to be accidental. “You always complain when baba calls you that.”

“Do I?”

“Mhmm,” she nods matter-of-factly. “You always make him call you meri jaan.”

“Meri jaan?” Harry repeats, turning to Zayn.

“It’s Urdu. It means ‘my love.’”

“Oh. I think I do prefer that,” Harry says. Zayn smiles softly at that, secretly. “Thanks Mar. You are so smart.”

“I know,” Amara shrugs before nattering on about how she played football after nursery with Beckham before they ate chicken for supper. “It’s yummy, but not as good as daadi’s.”

“Daadi?”

“My mum,” Zayn says over Madeline’s head. “She makes the best chicken. She taught you a bunch of recipes.”

When they arrive at the park, Mady’s just beginning to fuss in Zayn’s arms. Harry puts Amara down to help Zayn set up their picnic blanket and yoga mats – which turn out to be one adult sized one for Harry and another adult sized one cut in half for Amara and Madeline.

“Hi baby,” Harry coos. He rubs his finger against her nose.

“Daddy,” she smiles. She punches Harry weakly in the chest before gripping his shirt. She burrows herself there and gurgles.

“How have you been baby girl? You tired.”

“No. Down, please.”

Harry obliges. He tries not to be offended that Mady doesn’t want to be held as much as Amara did.

“Mady, do you want to run around a bit while Daddy sets up the yoga mats?” Zayn says. He unpacks the bag a bit more and hands them each a handle with a bunch of sparkly streamers coming off them. Amara takes Mady’s hand as well as the streamers before running off with her.

“God, they’re adorable.” Harry sprawls out on the blanket before thinking better of it and sitting up so he can watch the girls.

“They are. They were so excited to see you that Amara woke me up at half six and didn’t want any morning cuddles.”

“What about Mady?”

“She doesn’t really sleep through the night. I sit with her in the rocking chair until she settles but I can hear her fussing in her crib. You were always better at putting her down.”

“Oh. Well, maybe I can come by sometime this week for dinner and help with like, bath time.”

“Alright,” Zayn smiles. He reaches over and squeezes Harry’s hand.

Harry snaps a few pictures of Amara and Mady running around. He sends one to Niall and then takes one of Zayn. His head’s tipped back and he looks content with the wind blowing around his head. It’s really unfair how effortlessly beautiful Zayn always looks.

“Daddy! Daddy, watch!” Harry turns back to the girls to watch Mady’s hair whip around her face before she does a cartwheel that ends with her on her butt. She gets up though and goes chasing after Amara. Amara lifts Mady and spins them around once before they both fall to the ground, toys falling out of their hand. Harry’s just about to get up and make sure they’re alright when Amara helps Mady to her feet and kisses her knees.

“She fucking idolizes her,” Zayn says, snapping Harry out of it.

“They get along really well.”

“They don’t always. Amara’s got a lip on her and Madeline’s starting to pick up on it, but.” He shrugs, as if there’s really nothing else he can do. “We have marble jars for them though. If they do something good, they get a marble; clean their toys, make their bed, help load the dishwasher. If they’re bad, like Amara rolling her eyes or Mady not telling us when she has pooped, we take one out.”

“Did I think of that?”

“Yes,” Zayn says begrudgingly. “I was hoping you would forget that and I could take all the credit.”

Harry knows Zayn’s joking. He knows it’s nothing more than a passing comment. Still, he feels the need to communicate just how well of a job Zayn’s doing with them.

“You deserve so much credit Zayn. From what I’ve seen so far, you’re doing amazing.”

“You’d do it too, if you had to.”

“Maybe. But I haven’t yet and you’ve been parenting all by yourself. So, thanks.”

They watch the girls for a while, making sure no one approaches them as they run circles. They leap and twirl and Mady shows Amara dance moves for her to imitate.

“Amara actually thought your name was meri jaan.”

“Hmm?”

“Amara. She thought your name was meri jaan because of how often I called you it.”

“I like it. It’s sweet.”

“Yeah. I called you it when we first started dating as a joke, but it stuck.”

Harry grins, scooting a bit closer to Zayn on the blanket. Zayn hasn’t been the most forthcoming with information and to have Zayn tell him something so personal and intimate, has Harry’s heart fluttering. They’re pinky fingers are touching and Harry scoots his hand over until he’s sliding it over Zayn’s.

“You’re an idiot, just hold my hand like a normal person.”

Harry scoots over and places his hand palm up to hold Zayn’s. His fingers are long and nimble, Zayn’s wedding ring cold against Harry’s skin. Harry can’t help but compare how his hand feels to Nick’s. Zayn’s is smaller but when he threads his fingers through Harry’s it fits perfectly.

Back when he first started seeing Nick he had read an article in _Cosmo_ that decoded hand holding positions. There was one that Harry had immediately identified with Nick – the loosey goosey. Nick would never hold Harry’s hand. He would extend it out to him or place it someone in the vicinity of Harry’s hand, but he was never one to hold tightly. Nick left that up to Harry, to grip and squeeze and hold on for dear life because for all Harry could tell, Nick’s hand was like a limp noodle.

Zayn squeezes Harry’s hand through their intertwined fingers. Harry recalls how the article had described the hold as locked and loaded. There was mention of how it signified security and a strong sexual desire. Harry glances up at Zayn from their hands only to find that he’s already looking at him.

Harry knocks their shoulders together before poking his nose against the top of Zayn’s shoulder. Zayn laughs, but it’s more like a breath fanning against Harry’s cheek. He feels the pull, like a moth to a flame, Harry leans in slowly. His eyes dip to Zayn’s lips, thin and pink, and Harry’s eyes flick up to Zayn’s. He takes a deep breath, steadying himself for a kiss.

“Baba! Baba, Daddy!” Zayn’s head snaps to their daughter’s immediately on alert. His hand unthreads from Harry’s as he reaches out to catch Madeline. She’s toddling over to them, a bit uneasy on her legs with her shirt halfway up her tummy. “Yoga!”

“You’ve been summoned,” Zayn laughs as he catches her as she trips on the edge of the blanket.

Harry gets them to lie on their back first. Zayn hadn’t mentioned yoga so he really has no idea what he’s doing. Zayn tells them to closes their eyes and when to breathe in and out so Harry doesn’t have to. They’re fairly short breaths, but for the girls’ tiny lungs, they probably feel infinite. Zayn has a Bluetooth speaker playing ocean sounds and there are only a few other families in the park that are far away and fairly quiet.

“Okay, um, let’s get… into downward dog. Yeah.”

Amara scrambles to her feet, Madeline falling over before watching her sister do it. Harry too, follows Amara’s position and tilts his head upside down. He feels the stretch in his calves and the backs of his thighs as he makes a triangle.

“Daddy, you’re not doing it right. You’re supposed to tell us to make puppy sounds.”

“Oh. Okay, let’s yeah. Let’s make puppy sounds.”

Amara and Madeline begin to yip and bark. Zayn has Harry’s phone in his hand, pointed towards them.

“ _Daddy_ ,” Amara whines after half a minute of that.

“Amara.” Zayn pauses the music. Harry sits cross legged and so does Amara. Mady’s kicking her legs up, oblivious to Zayn’s tone. “What did we say about Daddy?”

“He’s sick.” She says looking down at her hands. Her eyes get droopy and she tucks her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Yes and what else?” Zayn prompts gently.

“That we have to be nice and not get mad when he forgets stuffs.” Amara sounds suspiciously close to crying. Harry wants to wrap her in his arms and tell her that it’s okay, he’s frustrated too, but knows that this is something important that he can’t get in the middle of.

“And what did you do?”

“Got mad.” Her voice breaks and Madeline finally falls out of her pose, rolling onto her back and sprawling out her limbs.

“Come here, Mar.” Amara walks over to Zayn with her head down. “You’re my big girl, yeah?” Amara nods and wraps her arms around Zayn’s shoulders. Zayn strokes her back, up and down and up and down. “We have to be patient with daddy. Do you know what that means?”

“Be nice when he forgets stuff.”

“And?”

“And – and help him instead of get mad.”

“Good girl. How about you ask daddy real nicely if you can lead yoga today?”

“Okay.” Amara sniffles, tilting her head for a kiss before walking with her head down to Harry. “Daddy.” Harry holds both her hands in his to reassure her. “Can I please lead yoga because, because I don’t want you to forget and I am a big girl too.”

“You are a big girl. Do you want to move your mat to the front so Madeline and I can follow you?”

“Yes please.”

With a swift look cast at Zayn, Harry kisses her forehead. “Good girl.”

Amara preens, skipping away to move her mat. Harry moves his into the spot she had and goes onto his hands and knees.

“This is table top,” she says before leading them into cat/cow.

Amara makes them hiss when they concave their backs upwards and tuck their necks into their chests. Then they moo with their backs arched looking up at the sky.

“Good job Mady,” Amara tells her sister after they do it a handful of times. There’s no way she can see Mady, but Mady thanks her happily all the same. Then they reposition into a nose to knee position that Amara admits forgetting the name of. Their legs are in front of them and Harry’s surprised with himself when his nose touches his knees without them bending.

“Okay butterfly!” Amara calls, bending her legs in. It sounds more like butt-fly though. Harry has to sneak a peek at Madeline to make sure he’s doing it correctly. He presses the soles of his feet together and presses down on his knees until they’re nearly touching the mat. “Flap, flap, flap!” Amara calls, moving her knees up and down. “Mady, tell us when to catch!”

They flap once, twice, before Mady’s saying “Catch!” So enthusiastically Zayn is laughing behind them. Like lightning, both girls fold their legs up and into their chests with their arms around their shins.

“Da, catch!” Mady repeats.

Harry does so before twisting to give Zayn a sheepish grin.

They go through airplane; where they lie on their fronts with their arms to the side and make flying noises while arching their backs. They go into triangle; their feet on the ground with their legs wide and bending at their hips to touch the ground. Tree pose is Harry’s favourite. They stand on one leg and try to balance with their foot below their knee, hands above their heads. Mady falls over every two seconds while Amara counts to twenty so slowly Harry thinks she forgets what comes after sixteen.

When they’re done, Amara tells them to go into child’s pose. Harry presses his forehead to the mat before Amara makes them sit on their bottoms with their legs crossed. He can feel his shirt sticking to his lower back and the burn in his legs. Amara turns to face them and gets Mady to hold her hands in a prayer position by her heart.

“Thank you for your energy,” she says, seriously. “Namaste.”

Mady repeats it before following Amara in a bow. Harry does the same, but half a second delayed. He tries not to giggle at how Amara gets off her feet and kisses Madeline with her eyes wide open before doing the same to Harry.

“That’s what you always do when we’re done,” she whispers loudly.

Zayn’s turning off the music and handing them juice boxes while Amara tells him this. He has a water bottle for Harry as well as a container of almonds and dried cranberries. He gives Madeline half a banana and Amara the other half.

“You did so good Amara. You too Mady, your moos were very good.”

Mady smiles around her straw while Amara rolls up her mat before drinking from her juice box.

“I remembered all the poses,” she tells Harry. “You always make us do the windmill, but I don’t like it.”

“That’s alright angel, you did great.”

“I think,” Zayn starts, “that we should get some sweets because you did so well Amara.”

“Mady did good too!” Amara defends. “She made louder airplane noises than daddy.”

“She did. She was very good.” Zayn’s as serious as Amara was.

Harry sits on the blanket, knee touching Zayn’s. He drinks his water and eats a handful of almonds and watches the sun kiss Zayn’s cheeks. It’s his 15th day out of the hospital and Harry thinks that if this is how he spends his Saturdays, he never wants it to change.


	4. Chapter 4

“First round’s on Liam!” Louis shouts. Liam shrugs out of his coat and hangs it on the hook at the end of the circular booth.

“We just got here mate.”

Harry shuffles into the seat beside Zayn and takes his hand. He gives it a good squeeze before resting Zayn’s hand on his knee.

“We’ve been here five minutes. I demand pints!” Louis’ declaration is met with a chorus from Niall.

Liam sighs, but makes his way to the bar nonetheless.

“What’s up his arse?” Niall asks from his spot on the other side of Zayn. Louis’ sat beside him until the only empty spot is for Liam next to Harry.

“Soph’s got all five kids at their place,” Harry explains.

“Why’s she got all five?”

“S’not like she’s alone. Eleanor brought Becks.” Louis chimes in. He’s looking at the worn down table instead of at the others. “Then again she’ll probably drink wine ‘til she passes out.”

Harry stays quiet, not wanting to ask questions about Eleanor when Louis seems to bristle at mentioning her name. The conversation shifts to football and Harry allows his eyes to glaze over. Zayn looks good sporting a different black leather jacket with a Batman shirt underneath.

Liam comes back with five beers, all filled to the brim. There’s only one dark lager on the tray that he passes to Niall before letting the other lads grab their own. “To Harry’s recovery,” he grins, wrapping an arm around Harry’s shoulders.

The boys chorus it before drinking, Harry smiling so wide he can barely drink his beer. There’s music and laughter and Harry sits back and listens to the boys talk while Zayn has an arm around the seat behind Harry’s head. He soaks up the sounds of the other patrons. It’s not a busy night at the pub by any means, a simple Tuesday to celebrate the fact that Harry woke up four weeks ago.

“Alright, let’s get out the rum!” Louis says once his beer’s drained. Harry’s still got half a glass left while Zayn and Niall’s are finished.

“I-”

“No protests. I’ll buy them. Niall, you’re on next round.” Louis gets out of the booth to scamper off. They watch as he immediately engages the cute bartender.

One round turns into two, which turns into three, which turns into Zayn buying him a raspberry mojito with a smile and a little “since you can drink again, thought I’d get you something you’d like.” Harry downs it before he can help himself, the fruitiness makes it easier for Harry to chug it and before he knows it the only things left in the cup are mint leaves and ice cubes.

Niall gets them all beers to slow them down. Harry can already feel himself getting light headed. His lips feel numb and there’s little sensation when he runs his tongue over his teeth. Zayn’s arm is around his waist and Harry’s leaning most of his weight on Zayn.

Zayn smells good and his smile is radiant. His laugh vibrates against Harry and when he reaches for his drink, he doesn’t lean far enough to jostle Harry from his spot. Harry is detached from the conversation and can feel himself staring at Zayn’s jawline. Liam’s talking about something, to which Louis is agreeing with. Niall is laughing loudly and Zayn looks like he’s paying an incredible amount of attention.

“Zayn,” Harry whispers. He elbows Zayn softly in the side.

“Yeah, babe?”

Harry blinks with the proximity of their faces. He can count his eyelashes and make out the little freckle in his eye.

“I have to wee.” Harry tells him.

“Well tell Liam, he’s blocking you in.”

“Oh.” He sits back up, not having thought of that. “Liam,” Harry interrupts. “Li, I gotta wee.”

Liam gets out of his booth with a laugh. He pauses his story to help Harry stand up before he slides back into the booth.

Harry stumbles his way to the bathroom, feeling more intoxicated than he had while he was sitting. He has to hold onto the top of the urinal to prevent himself from falling over. He ruffles up his hair, making it more of a mess than it already was. It reaches well past his shoulders, curly and a little limp from the sweat that’s broken out on the back of his neck.

He wants to sit back under Zayn’s arm, cuddle into him, and maybe kiss a bit. Or a lot. It’s been almost all he’s thought about in the few days since going to the park with their daughters. When Zayn and the girls left Liam’s that afternoon, it was with cuddles and kisses from the girls and a tight squeeze from Zayn. Harry had hoped, albeit naively, that Zayn would kiss him.

Harry’s plan of slipping back into Zayn’s arm is thwarted by Louis. He’s in Harry’s spot, nestled between Liam and Zayn. Harry takes the seat beside Niall with mild annoyance.

“Here,” Louis says, pushing a tequila shot towards him. “We were waiting, but you took too long.”

“Did you have one?” Harry eyes the empty bar table. There’s a massive plate of nachos in front of them with salsa, sour cream, and two guacamoles.

“ _Yes_ ,” Louis says exasperated. Zayn elbows him in the side under the table. Harry can only tell by the way he jolts and elbows Zayn back above the table.

Harry does it quickly; licking his hand to put some salt on it. He licks it off then downs the shot, sucking on the lime eagerly. He never liked tequila much.

“Ha! Brilliant!” Niall cheers. His cheeks are ruddy and his hair is starting to wilt.

Harry grins at Liam as Niall ruffles his hair. He kicks Harry under the table and holds his smile before engaging Louis in conversation. It allows Harry time to stare at Zayn, which he doesn’t quite mind. Zayn’s not paying him any attention as he leans around Louis to participate in their discussion.

Niall’s texting under the table and the glow from the screen illuminates his face.

“Who’re you texting?” Harry asks innocently.

“Just this bird. She’s the history teacher at the school I work at.”

“She fit?”

Niall shrugs, lifting the phone above the table and opening his Facebook app. “She’s cute. She’s the head of the history department and I'm head of music. We have these stupid fucking head department meetings every Wednesday morning and I'm just telling her how hungover I’ll be tomorrow.”

“You don’t seem too drunk.”

“Let’s change that then, want to do some shots?”

It’s probably a bad idea. It’s probably a horrendously bad idea to take shots with Niall at the bar, but Harry finds himself following despite himself.

“Having a good time?” Niall asks, swinging an arm around Harry’s waist. “You looked pretty cozy with Zayn.”

“Yeah. I haven’t really talked to him though.”

“He doesn’t really talk when we go out. We usually talk about work and get drunk before you two go off somewhere and snog.”

Harry glances back at Zayn. He has his arm slung around Louis’ shoulders. His eyes are crinkled in a smile Harry thought was reserved for him. He knows it’s ridiculous, but he feels a twinge of jealousy at how easily Louis gets Zayn to open up.

“Don’t make that face at them Haz. Tell Uncle Niall what’s wrong.”

Harry sticks his tongue out at Niall only to have him poke Harry’s dimple in retaliation.

“It’s just that I haven’t seen him since Saturday-”

“That was three days ago.”

“No, I know. But we’ve been texting every day and last night I called the girls to tell them goodnight and then we stayed up for an hour and just talked and now he’s barely looked to me.”

“Don’t read too much into it. Zayn just doesn’t like bars.”

The bar top tempts Harry to smash his forehead into it. Zayn looks like he likes bars just fine from the way he’s laughing with Liam and Louis.

“Whatever. Let’s just get drunk.”

Niall calls over the bartender and asks for two blow jobs with a smile.

“Oh my God.” Harry blushes, glancing around the bar. No one’s paying them any mind. There are only a couple tables full and a smattering of people sitting around the bar.

“What? You love them. I’ll get you a rim job martini, they’re your favourite.”

Harry folds his arms on the bar and rests his head on it in embarrassment.

“Here’s your blow job, cheers!”

Harry clinks his shot glass against Niall’s before downing the drink. He lets the flavours of Irish cream and Kahlua blend with the whipped cream that was on top. It’s admittedly pretty delicious.

“Alright, time for that rim job,” Niall declares, signaling for the bartender to return.

“You better not have said what I think you just said.”

And just like that Zayn’s snug up against Harry’s side with a hand curled around Harry’s wrist.

“S’a drink,” Harry says. Well, slurs. His eyes blink heavy and his arms feel like dead weights.

“Think it’s time for some water.”

“But I want a rim job.”

“You don’t even know what’s in it.” Zayn says patiently. “Could be tabasco, you hate that in drinks.”

“I do.” Harry agrees. He leans into Zayn a bit more. The leather is soft and worn against his bare arm and Harry revels in it. “Okay water.”

“First night drinking and you’re drunk before ten.”

“You said I couldn’t hold my liquor. I'm proving you wrong.”

The bartender places a short glass of water with three ice cubes and a straw in front of Harry. “You’re proving me right babe.”

“Call me meri jaan.” Harry corrects.

“Alright, _meri jaan_ ,” Zayn squeezes Harry’s waist before dropping his arm and guiding Harry back to their booth with a hand on his back.

Liam gets out of the booth when they return. Zayn slides in between him and Louis while Harry’s left at the end beside Niall. Once again, he’s sat farther away from Zayn than he had wanted.

Louis immediately begins to fill Zayn in on the conversation he missed. It’s about work and a customer complaint he had to deal with that went on for over an hour.

“I thought you worked with Zayn,” Harry interrupts.

Louis stops mid-sentence to turn to Harry. “In uni, yeah, but not for years.”

“Oh. Oh, I thought he said you worked together now.”

“We don’t,” Louis brushes him off. “I'm a senior customer relations manager at HSBC. It’s close to where the kids are going to school next year.” Louis waves around a hand like he couldn’t care less.

“Tell him the story Lou. It’s a good one.” Zayn gives Harry a kind smile, to which he returns gratefully.

“I didn’t take a gap year before uni and I was shit at saving money.” Louis shifts in his seat. “I never kept a job longer than a month and was borrowing money from friends for rent and food. So I went to the bank to get a savings account because I had just started working with Zayn at the student collegium and I was actually interested in account management so I applied and started working as a teller part-time.”

“Tell him about how he helped.” Zayn says not unkindly.

“You taught me how to balance my check books and let me have your accounting notes. Everyone else was making fun of me because I couldn’t even manage my piggy bank, but I worked my way up and it’s been five years, so… anyway, where even was I with that customer?” Louis takes a sip of beer before wiping his upper lip with the back of his hand. He dismisses the fact that Harry was the one asking the question. “Shit, I forget.”

Harry slips his hands under the table, well aware of the shift in mood. Louis had been loud, near screaming his story about the woman for the entire bar to hear, yet when he spoke of Harry he was guarded and straight to the point. There were no theatrics like the other stories he has told have had and now he looks peeved that he forgot his line of thought. Niall’s got his phone out again and is messaging while Liam bops his head to the music.

“S’alright, we got the gist of it.” Zayn laughs. He squeezes Louis’ shoulder before stealing Louis’ beer and drinking it.

Harry swallows thickly and cracks his knuckles. His head feels heavy and when he closes his eyes the dryness in his eyes is lifted. It feels good, soothing, to hang his head and roll it around.

“Wake up,” Niall says, elbowing him.

“Are we boring you sleeping beauty?” Louis asks.

Harry perks up and blinks a few times. “No. Sorry. Feel a bit drunk.”

“Well that’s what the water’s for, innit?”

“Lou,” Zayn warns from across Harry.

“I have a game!”

Collectively, the table groans at Niall’s sudden exclamation.

“Oi! Last time, the game went great! Harry learned a ton of shit.”

“Is this another spin the bottle then? Should we up the stakes?” Louis wiggles his eyebrows.

“There’s no way I'm kissing anyone here.” Liam announces.

“Maybe I wanted to snog Nialler. You don’t know.” Louis crosses his arms over his shoulder and leans back.

“We’re playing never have I ever. Let’s get some pints!” Niall shoves Harry half out of the booth before holding onto him to drag him with him to the bar once again.

Harry leans against the bar while Niall orders ten of the beers on tap. He goes for his wallet with zero hesitancy and pays while grabbing one of the trays. “If you spill this, I’ll kill ya.”

Harry nods and takes the tray, carefully walking with it back to the table. He gives each man two beers until he’s got none left and then Niall’s behind him distributing the rest. Harry tentatively slides into the booth beside Louis, a good few inches between them.

“This isn’t going to end well,” Liam mutters. He drags his beers closer towards himself.

“Shut up, Payno. Alright. No targeting, I'll begin.” Niall dramatically looks around the table. “Never have I ever gone streaking.”

Harry takes a beer along with Liam, Louis, and Zayn. “There’s no way you haven’t gone streaking,” Harry argues once he’s swallowed.

“Swear on me mum! I’ve flashed, but I haven’t done a lap without clothes.” Harry’s about to protest again when Niall chimes in. “S’your turn, come on.”

“What if it’s something that I don’t remember?”

“We’ll let you know. Don’t worry.” Liam kicks him under the table in reassurance.

“Okay. Well, never have I ever… made weed brownies?”

Zayn and Louis clink their glasses before drinking and laughing. “Don’t bother asking about the story, that’s all they did for a solid year.”

“Never have I ever,” Louis begins, “asked someone out as a dare.” He glances around suspiciously, before leaning back. “Good. Alright Zayner.”

“I have never had an online dating profile.”

Niall laughs as he raises his beer and downs a good portion of it. Everyone laughs out of surprise and Niall looks pleased with himself when he sets his drink back down.

“Never have I ever thrown up in a moving vehicle,” Liam raises his eyebrows.

“Have I-”

“ _Yes_ ,” Niall and Louis groan.

“We had a bachelor night before our wedding,” Zayn says, “and you got so drunk you puked out the side of the cab.”

“I didn’t”.

“Oh yeah. And then just before you adopted Mady, we went for a pub night and you puked out my car window,” Louis tells him. “It dribbled all down the side”

“I'm so sorry.”

“Don’t worry, Haz. We all took a drink with you.” Zayn raises his glass and they clink together before the four of them drink.

From then on it seems to blend into drinking and storytelling. Their glasses drain at lightning speed as Niall says he has never used a sex toy on himself and Louis admits to never doing anal. Harry’s bright red as he takes his drink for that and tries very hard not to look at Zayn. Niall says he’s never juggled, Harry says he’s never drank an entire carton of milk in one sitting. Liam says he’s never had sex in a public place to which Zayn tells Harry that there have been some incidents in locker changing rooms and pub loos and he has to take a drink.

Everyone seems to be laughing and having a good time, but Harry feels, once again, on the outskirts. Louis is barely looking at him unless it’s absolutely necessary and it seems to be that only Liam and Niall are forthcoming with tales of his past. Zayn adds input every once and again, but most of the sexual questions have to do with the two of them and it’s embarrassing for him to learn about it second hand.

“Never have I ever,” Louis starts, “been recorded during sex.” He’s flushed and giggling. His hair is pushed back from his face and the other boys look in similar states of disarray.

Harry lifts his glass and drinks from it before he can give it a second thought. He remembers the camera being in his face as he sucked dick, hollowing his cheeks and moaning loudly while the camera moved to a more aerial view, looking up and seeing –

“Fuck,” Harry mumbles just as Louis’ slapping Zayn’s back with a “Zayn you sly dog!”

Only, Zayn’s pushing his beer away from him. “Let me out Li, I need a smoke.”

Harry watches helplessly as Liam gets out. Zayn doesn’t even turn before he’s weaving around tables and barstools to get to the exit.

“I'm gonna join him, I'm itching for one myself,” Liam announces.

“Me too,” Niall agrees.

Its complete bullshit, Harry thinks nervously, Niall doesn’t even smoke.

“Way to fuck up,” Louis mutters, snagging his beer and promptly finishing it off.

Harry turns from anxious to angry in a millisecond. “You set me up.”

“How was I supposed to know you were such a slag? It’s not like I bloody _knew_ you let Grimshaw do that shit to you. Hell, I don’t even know if it was Grimshaw, after all.”

“Of course it was.” Harry bites. “It’s not like it even matters. That’s the first time Zayn paid attention to me all night.”

“Don’t be stupid. He was all over you earlier.”

“Yeah, _earlier_. And then he switched seats and ignored me.” Harry runs his thumb over the ridge that runs around the middle of his glass. “He doesn’t even care.”

“You think he doesn’t care?” When Harry shrugs petulantly, drunk, and feeling sorry for himself, Louis cranes his body around and rests his knee on the cushiony seat to get closer to Harry’s face. “He cares too much if you ask me.”

“Well I'm not asking. He only talked to me when I talked to him first and I'm always the one messaging him first.”

“Maybe that’s because he’s got two children to look after and he’s basically a single fucking parent right now.” Harry’s just about to argue that he _has_ been a better father lately and that he _has_ been making an effort when Louis raises a bony finger and fixes him with a murderous glare. “Everyone wants to spare your feelings. Everyone thinks you’re a spooked horse and no one wants to tell you the truth, but I’ll always protect Zayn first. He was always there for me and I'm there for him, always.”

“I get that I fucked up okay?”

“No Haz, I really don’t think you do.”

“Then tell me,” Harry keeps his voice level. “If you want me to know, tell me, because no one else will.”

Louis takes Zayn’s abandon beer and wraps his hands around the glass. “Zayn had the biggest crush on you. As soon as he met you he came to work rambling about how much he liked you, but you were with Nick so he stayed in the background. He went to parties with Liam and saw the way Nick treated you like garbage – don’t interrupt. You guys were fighting a lot after second term and you went to one of his shitty DJ shows and saw him cheating on you.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you called Liam and he didn’t pick up so Zayn came to get you. The next night you invited Zayn over and ended up all drunk and snotty, crying about how you loved Nick and thought you would be together forever.” Louis rolls his eyes before collecting himself. “Zayn took summer courses so he was here for the summer and you saw how passionate he was about art and realized you weren’t like that with business at all. There was a seminar on ways to relieve student stress and one of presenters talked about massages and you just went head first into massage therapy.”

“Huh. I don’t remember that.”

Louis gives him an exasperated look before continuing. “You submitted your application and we went out for drinks. It was you, me, Zayn, and Niall and we went on the wrong fucking night and Nick was playing his shitty DJ music. You went right back to Nick and abandoned us to hang around his stupid mix board or whatever and he got you free drinks and you left with him without telling any of us.”

“I wouldn’t do that.”

“Wanna fucking bet mate? Zayn was so hung up on you and I told him not to be upset. You didn’t find out until after you’d slept with him again that he was still seeing someone else. Zayn was there for you, like he always is, like he is now. It’s like uni all over again with him chasing you and you leaving him and it’s not fucking fair and I'm not going to go along with it like he does.” Louis finishes in a winded breath.

“I'm trying now. I didn’t mean to put him through that.”

“I'm not saying you did. All I know is that you don’t get his 3am phone calls when he’s crying because the girls miss you. You don’t pick up the pieces when Zayn can’t cook or clean and Mady won’t stop crying and shitting her diapers. It’s been four weeks of Zayn not sleeping and struggling and hiding how he really feels.”

“Why are you telling me this then? Why isn’t he?”

“Because he still fucking cares about you too much, doesn’t he?” Louis’ voice is properly loud now.

Anger and guilt burns hot through Harry’s veins as he sits in his seat, determined to show Louis how committed he is to Zayn and their family.

“He’d rather you be fucking happy with someone who never loved you than force you to be with him! He has spent every day supporting you, financing you, and calling everyone he needs to; to make sure that your life is as easy as possible. He has your fucking initials tattooed into his skin for God’s sake. You don’t think that’s love? You don’t think he cares?”

Harry slides out of the booth without another word and crosses his arms over his chest. Knowing that it’s wrong to walk away, but overcome with fury, Harry marches through the open front doors and steps into the cold air. The thin shirt he has on does nothing to protect him from the cold. Liam and Niall are huddled around Zayn. Zayn’s cigarette is burning amber as Niall rubs his hand up and down his back.

“I want to go home,” Harry tells Liam. He steadfastly does not look at Niall or his husband.

Liam stares at him like he’s got a fifth head. Harry turns on his feet, stumbling only slightly as he makes his way towards Liam’s house. He’s only a block away from the bar when he hears footfalls behind him.

Disappointment fills him when it’s Liam who wraps an arm around him instead of Zayn. He sags into his friend, throwing an arm around his waist and letting himself be led away.

~

Harry allows himself ten minutes to wallow in bed before getting up and on with his day.

It’s not enough though.

Harry finds that his clients constantly annoy him throughout the day; one has a cold and arrived to her appointment instead of cancelling like she should have, he has a new patient with a repetitively strained calf muscle who refuses to stop doing Pilates, and his last client provides a running commentary of the conversation they had with their love guru. On top of that, he spills his salad on the lunchroom floor.

David and Chloe are energetic at home. Sophia makes dinner as Liam watches football and Harry chooses to play games on his iPad as he unwinds. He wants to call Amara and Mady, except he’s not entirely sure what he would say to Zayn when he picks up.

Guilt and annoyance had thrummed through Harry’s mind the entirety of the day. Louis’ words play on a loop until Harry explodes, asking Liam about it while washing the dishes.

The plastic flower plate Liam was scrubbing plops right back into the sink. Soap suds go everywhere.

“Who told you all that?”

“Does it matter? It should have been you. Or Zayn.”

“That’s fair. It should have been Zayn. But,” Liam chews on his bottom lip, visibly troubled. “He was waiting until he was ready.”

“And how long would that have taken?” Harry yells.

Liam’s eyes dart towards the kitchen door before settling nervously back on Harry. “”

“Alright. Well. What else do you want to know?”

“Tell me about Gemma.”

Liam sighs, but doesn’t seem surprised. “Gemma didn’t like Nick. She warned you and you got mad at her and that was the first spark. She came over to visit you at College London for reading week, just after Valentine’s Day, and you got in a huge fight. Did Louis tell you when Nick and you broke up?”

“Not when. Just that he cheated on me.” As an afterthought, Harry adds, “Apparently.”

“Yeah. Well you told her about the break up and that you were thinking about dropping out of business because you weren’t happy. She was proud of you and encouraged you to finish the semester while you figured out what you wanted to go into. You chose massage therapy in late June and we were all happy for you. When Anne finally got wind of all of the news, she wasn’t very happy of course.” Liam hands Harry the last dish. “She was actually livid. She liked Nick because he came from money and Zayn, it’s pretty easy to see that Zayn doesn’t. He was the first in his family to go to university and your mum always blamed Zayn for you switching to massage therapy.”

They’re done the dishes now, as Liam drains the sink and Harry places the last glass in the draining rack. Harry’s head is spinning. He never would have thought his life would ended up being so complicated. All he can remember was being so happy and naïve with Nick.

“How did I chose massage therapy? Do you know?”

Liam nods and leads them over to sit at the kitchen table. It’s still got crumpled napkins and bits of food crumbs on it.

“It was around the time you were getting into a health kick. No refined sugars, bimonthly juice cleanses, and you got into yoga. You went to a massage therapy session because you hurt your shoulder or your arm or something and you came out of it declaring that you had found your passion.” Liam has a goofy grin on his face, like the memory of it brings him joy.

Harry’s head is still whirring in confusion as he tries to unfold the events in his mind.

“There was a fight though right? Zayn said Gemma wanted to go to Prague for grad school.”

“She did, yeah. Gemma wanted to go, but your mum said since you changed your degree they didn’t have enough money for Gemma to go abroad.”

“Oh-”

“It was a lie, of course. Anne had your lives all planned out exactly as _she_ wanted them. It was bad, Haz. You don’t remember, but… Your mum’s not a nice lady. I know she’s your mum, but. But I was there, y’know? That first time she came to visit back in first year and she brought that pie from the bakery. She was all ‘Harry here’s going to be an accountant,’ ‘my daughter’s going to be a lawyer.’ It was horrible.”

Harry remembers that day well. It was around October by the time Anne finally came to visit him. She had bombarded Liam with questions about his goals and what his parents did. Harry was mortified with the way Anne had treated his brand new roommate.

“Yeah. Yeah, she was always like that.”

“It got worse too. After she found out about the engagement, she didn’t want to come to the wedding. You told her you didn’t want her money, you just wanted her there, but she refused. She didn’t think you would go through with it without her blessing. Guess she underestimated how much you loved Zayn. A couple weeks after that, she invited you over to give you a gift and apologize. When you got there Gemma was yelling at her. You didn’t even ask, and um, you just took your mum’s side.”

“Oh.”

“You didn’t even know what they were fighting about, you didn’t even ask. Anne was crying and Gemma was yelling so you started screaming that you had had enough of all of the fighting. You told Gemma to stop and she was bewildered. She left a couple days later and you didn’t figure it out until after what really happened.”

Harry puts his head in his hands, wary of what Liam is going to say next. Liam doesn’t and the noise from the living room – loud laughter and children’s songs – carries into the kitchen. “What actually happened then?”

“Harry, I think – “

“Tell me, Liam. Please. I don’t want to wonder about this anymore.”

Liam sighs. “Your mum was going to convince you to break up with Zayn and get back to your accounting. Gemma was defending you and your mother was crying because Gemma was being truthful while your mother was being cruel – God this was so long ago. Gemma apparently said that she was more of your mother than Anne ever was and that if she cared about you even a little, she would support you. Your mum didn’t like that and essentially said that as long as you were with Zayn you were excluded from the inheritance – which, you and Zayn never cared about. You didn’t know this until after though, so… yeah. Gemma travels and sends postcards and that’s pretty much the only way you know where she is. Anne calls on holidays, but it’s more like a ‘happy Christmas, bye’ sort of thing.”

Harry doesn’t know what to say. Liam looks as if he’s in physical pain from having to tell Harry that story.

Harry blinks. Then blinks again. He feels the same detachment as he had while looking at himself in the mirror. It’s like hearing a recap of a television show or reading a book review.

“Harry-”

“Thanks Liam.” Harry smiles. It’s forced and fake and Liam can tell. Harry’s standing up already, in a rush to get seclusion. “I think – I think I just want to be alone right now.”

Harry strips down to his boxers and lies in bed.

His stomach turns as he imagines what that must have felt like for Gemma. She was always the motherly figure in his life. She was always the moral compass and his closest comfort. The thought of a nonexistent relationship, radio silence for three years, is so troubling Harry finds himself short of breath.

With his face pressed into his pillow, Harry draws in damp, hot breaths. They’re short and make his chest heave with every quick exhale he can manage. His hands shake as he rolls onto his back and draws in air as fast as possible. Water leaks from his eyes as he stares at the ceiling; willing the feeling away.

Harry’s heart pounds erratically and he feels hot and sticky all over even though his room is cool. He wipes a hand over his face as he sits up. It doesn’t help with his breathing though as he starts to hyperventilate. Harry tries to think of where he keeps his inhaler. While unpacking, he doesn’t remember seeing it and it’s not like he can go across the hall in nothing but his pants, with his chest flushed and eyes watering to rummage around the medicine cabinet.

It’s probably not even in there. It’s probably at Zayn’s and Zayn probably hates him. Hell, Harry hates himself for what he’s doing to Zayn. It’s not fair. It’s not fair and Harry’s can’t _breathe_.

Harry begins pacing.

He walks from one end of the room to the other. He inhales as he walks to the door, turns around, then exhales as he walks back to his bed. He does this over and over until his hands still and he feels like he’s no longer walking on shards of glass.

When Harry sits down he feels like he’s run a marathon. He sips the warm cup of water on his nightstand and plugs in his phone. He’ll fix this tomorrow, he’ll fix with _everything_ tomorrow.

~

On his way home from work, Harry calls Nick.

“Harry?”

“Fuck you!” Harry yells into the receiver.

Nick doesn’t even hesitate to respond, “I told you to be careful who you trust.” He sounds calm. It sets Harry off.

“Oh so you do know exactly what I'm talking about? Why didn’t you fucking tell me the whole truth? None of those half-truth bullshits!”

A woman passes by with a baby carriage. Harry doesn’t even pause to coo at the two of them before he’s picking up his pace.

Nick still hasn’t responded so Harry takes it upon himself to further the conversation. “I didn’t think that meant you! I didn’t think that meant my _mother_.”

“Who did you think I meant?” Nick sounds genuinely confused. It’s infuriating.

“Louis! I don’t know. Maybe Zayn!”

Harry hears Nick laugh into the phone. “I couldn’t give two flying fucks about Tomlinson! Zayn is the love of your fucking life, he would never lie to you. I only went along with it because Zayn asked me!”

Stunned, Harry tries not to let out a string of expletive insults he won’t be able to take back. “Why would Zayn ask you to go to the hospital? He hates you.”

“Cheers. But I don’t know. He’s _your_ husband. Ask him yourself.”

Harry can’t believe Nick’s attitude. Just four weeks ago, Nick had been acting like the boyfriend he always was. Right now, Nick doesn’t seem like he could care less. “Did you – did you ever care about me? Were we ever together?”

“I had a boyfriend before we started seeing each other.” The laughter is out of his voice now. “But I did care about you. We had a lot of fun together.”

“Are you serious?” Harry stops dead in his tracks. “You had a boyfriend when I was at College London?”

“At first I thought you knew, but then you were such a good shag I didn’t want to ruin it. I just went along with it and I didn’t think it was anything serious really until you starting moving in your bloody toothbrush and stealing my clothes.”

His chest suddenly feels tight again. Harry closes his eyes and feels sick with shame. He’s three houses away from Liam’s and doesn’t know how he’s going to walk into that house without feeling dirty for sleeping with someone who was in a relationship. Before he can say anything else, Harry very carefully, very calmly hangs up on Nick.

He wishes that he was able to slam the phone down dramatically. As it is, Harry rolls his shoulders onto his back and picks up his strides.

~

It’s Sophia who ultimately encourages Harry to talk to Zayn. Liam’s finished bathing the kids and he’s tucking them in when she suggests that Harry walk over to his and Zayn’s place and talk to him.

She feeds him a glass of wine and spends and inordinate amount of time petting his hair and reassuring him that Zayn loves him. Harry commits the walk to Zayn and his house to memory. He takes in the gardens and the small shops that line the streets. The shops are mostly closed as its darkening and he passes a few people who are friendly enough to smile at him. When he reaches their house, he slips his phone into the pocket of his sweatshirt.

He quietly knocks twice. The girls will be asleep so Harry doesn’t worry about seeing them. He tries to collect his thoughts, of what he’s going to say, but the memory of his anxiety attack threatens to take his words away.

Zayn opens the door, and with a surprised look, steps out to greet Harry with a half-hearted wave. “Hi.” He shuts the front door behind him.

“Hi,” Harry says, staring at the door. It shouldn’t seem like a rejection, but it stings.

“Don’t want to wake the girls,” Zayn explains. There’s a guardedness in his eyes that tells Harry differently.

“I'm sorry about the other night. About the whole, sex tape thing. I didn’t realize.”

“It’s not a big deal.” Zayn has a lighter in his hand that he flicks on then off.

“It is. It is to me and I'm sorry for how I’ve handled this situation. I should have been home. I should be home. With you.”

“You don’t have to. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, Harry.”

Harry steals himself and repeats what Sophia said; _honesty_.

“I want to try with you. I don’t want any more secrets. I know what happened between us now. I know about Nick and my horrible relationship and I know how much I hurt you. And, God Zayn, I’m so sorry for what I put you through.” Harry feels like he’s choking. Zayn looks away from Harry then with his lips between his teeth.

“That was ages ago.”

“I'm sorry for the past month too. For the way I treated you in the hospital.”

Zayn flicks the lighter again. He hasn’t looked Harry in the eyes at once. “You didn’t know.”

“But I know now and I – I want to come home. I don’t know if I’ll remember everything or nothing, but I want us to try, I really do. It’s a new month, I want us to start fresh.”

“Can I have some time?” Zayn asks, finally turning to look at Harry. Harry finally takes a good look at Zayn and realizes how tired he looks. He just looks so tired in a way that Harry had never noticed before.

Zayn’s eyes are a bit puffy and there are tiny bags under his eyes. He has wrinkles between his eyebrows and his lips are turned down so much, Harry’s worried that his face will be in a permanent frown.

“I need to think about what’s best for the girls and for us.”

“For us,” Harry says slowly.

Zayn nods and flicks the lighter on again.

“If that’s what you want.”

“It is,” Zayn tells him, eyes back on the lighter.

“Alright then. I’ll um. I’ll talk to you soon? Maybe call me tomorrow so I can talk to the girls before bed?”

“Sure.”

Hesitantly, and slightly more confused than when he arrived, Harry heads back the way he came.

~

A squirrel runs in front of Harry and climbs up the tree to his left. It happens in the blink of an eye, before he can get his phone out and take a video.

It’s a beautiful day in the park across from Harry’s work and he’s sitting on a bench drinking a smoothie. Zayn had messaged him just after midday saying that the girls would call him while Zayn made dinner.

Harry’s almost done his drink by the time his phone rings.

“Hello?”

“Daddy!” Amara shrieks in his ear.

“Hi angel! I think I'm on speaker phone, you can lower your voice.”

“Sorry. Mady say hi to daddy.”

“Hi daddy,” Madeline says dutifully. She babbles it a little; it doesn’t come through as clear as Amara’s dialect. It makes his heart melt.

“Hi beautiful. What did you two do today?”

Harry leans against the back of the bench as Amara starts a long-winded story about the class fish they got.

“Its name is Blossom and its blue.”

“Blue?” Harry gasps. Amara and Mady giggle on the other end. “A fish can’t be blue!”

“It is! Baba said if we’re good we can get a fish even thoughs you said we could get a pony.”

“I did? When did I say that?”

A couple passes in front of Harry. They’re holding hands and both smiling bashfully.

“Before you stayed with David.”

“Are you sure? I think I’d remember that.”

“Nuh-uh. We should get one.”

“Okay, baby. Is Madeline still there?”

“Yes,” Amara says. She sounds distracted.

Harry attempts to picture what they look like, but he doesn’t even know what their house looks like. He’s seen pictures of a bare living room with a straggly Christmas tree and of stockings and homemade advent calendars. Still Harry can’t conjure up what their home looks like; if they’ve got one long couch and a few chairs in the living room with their toys neatly organized or if the floor is covered in dolls and blocks and colouring books.

“What’s she doing?”

“Um… She’s sucking on her toes.”

“Mady,” Harry reprimands. “Don’t suck on your toe.” Harry hears rustling before Amara starts laughing. “Did she stop?”

“Yes. She went to the kitchen.”

“Is baba in the kitchen?”

“Mhmm. He’s making chicken.”

“That’s exciting. Have you been having fun with baba and Mady?”

“Yeah-huh. Uncle Lou and Beckham come over lots.”

Harry shifts his phone to the other ear. He glances around the park and although there’s only a few people strolling around, he lowers his voice to say, “Has Uncle Lou come over a lot?”

“Yes daddy.”

“How many times a week?”

“I don’t _know_. Lots. Baba was sad this morning and they always comes over when he’s sad.”

Harry winces. “Is baba sad a lot?”

“You ask too many questions,” Amara whines. “I want to tell you about playtime.”

“Alright Mar, tell me all about it.”

Amara does while Harry gets up and looks for a bin to throw his empty smoothie cup into. She played a unicorn while David was a frog and Beckham was a mermaid. David was upset because mermaids and unicorns aren’t real and then Pilar, who Amara is adamant she does _not_ like, called them dumb and Beckham called her a wanker and got in trouble.

“You shouldn’t say that word Amara. Even if you’re telling a story.”

“But Uncle Lou calls you it _all the time_.”

“Does he?” Harry slumps back onto the bench. He doesn’t like the thought of Louis calling him a wanker in front of his children. “Does he say it to you or to baba?”

“Baba.” Amara’s voice is much smaller than before. “But I stand right in the door. It’s not my fault I hear good.”

“Hear well, baby.” Amara groans. Harry can practically hear her eye roll. “What else is new? Are you excited for your dance recital in a few weeks?”

“Yeap. Baba makes me practice every day!”

“He does? Well you must be even more perfect than before!”

“Mhmm. Baba says I'm going to blown you away.”

“I know you will baby. Do you-”

“Baba’s here. Bye daddy!”

Harry hears the phone drop then Amara laugh loudly. He hears a faint, “Get back here, say goodbye like a good girl” followed by Amara sighing into the receiver.

“Bye daddy, love you.”

“Wait, Amara. Be a big girl, alright? Give baba and your sister lots of kisses. I miss you all lots.”

“Miss you too daddy. I love you lots always.”

“Love you lots always too buttercup.” Harry scrubs a hand over his face when Amara’s laugh gets cut off. He thinks the conversation is over until Zayn speaks up.

“Hey. Harry?”

“Yeah, hi. How are you?”

“Good. I'm just making dinner, but I wanted to say thanks for speaking with the girls.”

Harry swallows past the lump in his throat. It isn’t at all what Harry wants to hear from him.

“Of course. I miss them. You too.”

“Yeah.”

Harry scratches his knee overtop his khakis.

“Listen, I’ve got to go, but thank you. It will make it easier to get Amara to bed tonight.”

“Any time. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Alright. Bye, Harry.”

Harry waits a couple silent seconds before ending the call. He tilts his head back and stares at the sky.

Clouds sit in the sky without a care in the world. They look like hot dog buns and puppies, lamps and dinosaurs. Harry waits until the businesses across the street start to close one by one before heaving himself up off the bench.

~

Zayn calls him on Saturday.

Zayn calls him and says, “Please come home,” and Harry’s repacking his belongings for the second time in two weeks.

Harry doesn’t think about their lack of communication as he folds his shirts up. He doesn’t imagine what their sleeping arrangement is going to be. Harry pushes the thought of late awkward nights and stilted conversation out of his head as he focuses on moving in with his children and fixing his relationship with Zayn. He just wants it to be good and solved and to erase the past month out of his mind. It’s rather ironic.

The five minute drive to Zayn’s house is spent with Liam clutching his hand and reassuring him that everything will be okay.

And it is.

Harry’s met with kisses and hugs from his children. Mady stands in front of him and repeatedly says ‘up’ until Harry obliges. It makes carrying in boxes and bags difficult, but he manages. Amara carries small things like his toiletry bag and his boots and places them by the door so Liam almost trips and smashes his head into walls on more than one occasion.

Zayn moves the boxes to various rooms in the house and when they’re done they all have a beer while the girls eat apple slices.

“M’excited.” Harry tells Zayn once Liam’s left.

“Me too. Do you want a tour?”

“I’d love one.”

Mady demands to be carried, making grabby hands and whining in the back of her throat when Harry doesn’t lift her up right away. Amara has a stuffed hedgehog in her arms and is showing Harry dents in the wall and markings where she took Eleanor’s lipstick and smeared it on the wall. She says so with a self-satisfied smile.

There are pictures lining almost every surface of the house. Small family photos sit on side tables and hang on ledges. Harry and Zayn have copies of their uni graduation pictures on opposite sides of the television and Amara and Madeline’s baby photos hang by the door leading into the kitchen.

There’s abstract artwork framed on the walls and a comic book-esque drawing of Amara and Madeline in capes with bubble guns. It’s adorable.

Amara shows Harry her room with a flourish. It has an aquatic theme that is mostly light blue with various sea animals in it. There are two scuba divers; one with brown curly hair poking out from underneath the diving helmet and one that is clearly Zayn. Two mermaids swim beside them. “See. That’s you and daddy and that’s me and Mady. This is an octopus and this is a Jell-o fish.”

“Jellyfish,” Zayn gently corrects.

“There are turtles and lots and lots of fishies.”

“This is so cool. Who did it?” Harry asks Zayn. They’re not stickers; Harry can tell that it was painted by hand and outlined in some kind of thick sharpie.

“Baba! He dids it while I was being part of the family, right baba?”

“Yeah baby. And how did you become part of the family?”

“You took me!” She says excitedly.

“Not quite,” Zayn laughs. He ruffles her hair and drags her into a hug. “Remember that big word we talked about?”

“Adopten?”

“Adoption,” Zayn corrects gently. “Maybe daddy forgets what it is too. You should tell him.”

Amara pushes her hair off her face with the back of her hand. It falls back in front of her eyes when she bounces on the balls of her heels in excitement. “One boy and one girl have to love each other to have a baby. That’s how me and Mady were made! And because you and baba are both boys you can’t make a baby. So you went to the store and got me!”

“The hospital Mar, but good job!” Zayn high fives their daughter and Harry smiles at her excitement.

Amara preens, clutching the hem of Zayn’s shirt and tugging on it. “He added Mady when she was adoptioned and there’s allll this space for sea-dogs and sea-ponies.” She jumps around while she says it.

“There is,” Harry agrees. A tiny voice in his head screams ‘or another child’ though he tries to shush it.

She picks up stuffed animals and introduces them all to Harry. He kisses each one obediently before she moves on and shows him her books and all the colouring books she has completed.

“You can show him this tomorrow Mar. How about you show Harry where Madeline sleeps?” Zayn suggests.

Mady’s room is even smaller than Amara’s and right beside it.

Her crib takes up a majority of the room and her toy chest is crammed in the corner. There are stuffed animals on her bookshelf along with a small music player and a rocking chair beside it.

“We were planning on moving in the winter, once she gets bigger.” Zayn says after Harry’s touched nearly every item.

“I like it. We could always knock down the wall. Have one big room,” Harry suggests.

“We wanted a four bedroom, actually.”

“Oh. Can I see our room?”

Zayn leads him across the hall where there’s a bathroom and their bedroom. “That’s the main bathroom and the one the girls use for baths and such. We have our own right in here.”

Zayn pushes open the door and Amara shrieks as she runs in. She climbs onto the bed and sprawls out in the middle of it. Her dress scrunches up near her hips, white tights dirty at the knees.

“This is your side,” Amara tells him. She rolls until she’s taking up the left side. “It doesn’t smell like you anymore.”

“Amara,” Zayn says in what Harry has officially coined his ‘baba voice.’

“That’s alright. We’ll cuddle lots to make up for it Mar. Promise.”

That seems to soothe Amara for now as she cuddles into the burgundy duvet.

Harry’s bedside table has an iPod dock and a Cosmo magazine. There’s a lamp mounted above it and a picture frame is situated at what Harry assumes to be the perfect angle from his pillow. Harry shifts a dozing Mady to his opposite hip and picks it up.

It’s of Zayn smiling widely at the camera with his eyes closed. Amara’s kissing one side of his cheek and Harry’s kissing the other. Both their noses are pressed against Zayn’s cheeks. Madeline is sat in his lap with her head lolled to the left and her hair in two buns atop her head.

What they’re wearing, where it’s taken – all of that blurs into the background as Harry takes in the expression of pure joy on Zayn’s face.

“This is a great picture.”

“It was taken on my birthday this year.”

“You look really happy.”

“Yeah,” Zayn agrees. He clears his throat before tugging on Amara’s foot. “Do you want to watch a movie with daddy before bed tonight?”

“Mhmm.”

“What did we say about words?”

“Use them.” Amara sits up and wraps the back of her dress over her shoulders. “Yes please baba.”

Zayn smacks her bum lightly when she stands. Amara shrieks and takes off running in a fit of giggles down the hall. “You can unpack your clothes in here while we pick a movie.”

“Alright. Which drawers are mine?”

“The top two in that dresser and then most of the closet. It’s half full already though because, you know.”

Harry glances at the two duffel bags of his clothes on the floor. “Sounds good. Thanks Zayn. I really – I'm really glad to be here.”

Zayn squeezes Harry’s hand before taking Madeline from his arms.

Harry plugs his phone into the dock and tries to find the organization he apparently has at home. He hangs his sheer and button-up shirts and tucks his t shirts alongside his other ones. He crams his underwear and socks into the respective drawer and puts his jeans on the proper shelf.

He’s being nosy though. He opens his side table drawer and finds a bottle of lubricant and Christmas and birthday cards. There are old phone cases and the camera he used in first year of uni in the back of it. He doesn’t bother touching anything, eager to get to the movie. So he skips over to Zayn’s dresser and opens the first drawer.

What had been genuine curiosity turns to embarrassment when Harry sees what’s been placed in it. There are two vibrators and a yellow dildo. Harry doesn’t dare to touch anything, though he observes that there are multiple bottles of lube and some sort of cleaner. There are some smooth looking scarves and three cock rings nestled on top of them.

Harry shuts the drawer with heated cheeks and a half hard dick. He wasn’t expecting to find anything of the sort, but now that he has, he wishes he never saw them.

Harry sits on his bed and messages Liam to thank him for his hospitality then texts Niall to let him know he’s settled in a bit. By the time both boys have messaged him back, Harry’s only vaguely aroused.

~

Harry’s home and things have been great.

He spends his mornings waking up on the pullout couch to kisses from Mady or cuddles from Amara. He makes pancakes or waffles or scrambled eggs. Sometimes he cooks chicken bacon or cuts up fruit but almost every morning he finds himself receiving sticky kisses and tight hugs before Zayn whisks them off to nursery and daycare.

Work is picking up with sports injuries and chronic tendinitis outbreaks and although Harry shouldn’t be glad about other’s injuries, he’s finding his monetary guilt subsiding with every client. He goes grocery shopping on his way home from work and comes home to make dinner while Zayn picks up the girls. Sometimes they have curries or casseroles and others it’s something simple like pasta.

He ends his days by bathing Mady and Amara or practicing their writing with them while Zayn sits across from him and helps them out. He watches Amara practice her dance and strolls around the house with Mady on his hip. Zayn warms up to him slowly but surely.

They don’t talk about their argument and as far as Harry can tell, he’s been forgiven. Some nights they drink beer and chat about their days while other times Zayn kicks his feet onto Harry’s lap and receives a foot massage.

On Friday they have wine and cheese while Amara and Madeline sleep upstairs. They watch _10 Things I Hate About You_ and chat about Heath Ledger until they’re too lethargic to do much else. Harry’s tucked under Zayn’s arm, but it is frustrating when he gets a pat on the back before Zayn heads up to their bedroom by himself. It’s not an invitation and Harry doesn’t take it as one.

Day by day, Harry has small memories return; the computer game he played religiously in summer 2016 and the smell of the sea when he went to the Netherlands. He remembers Trisha’s coconut curry recipe and excitedly calls his mother-in-law to gush about it. Doniya’s wedding is a vague memory where he recalls lights and music and the venue.

He remembers when Louis was stung by a jellyfish and when Amara fell off the swing set at he thought she broke her arm. He remembers Madeline walking into a mailbox and the goose egg she got on her forehead. He remembers the thunderstorm in 2018 where Amara and Madeline were staying at Zayn’s mums place and they set up a tent and fucked all night.

That memory is the only one he doesn’t tell anyone about. He remembers the sound of the lightning and the wind howling against the windows. He remembers the smell of hot chocolate and whiskey and the vanilla candles they made for a fire. He remembers the way Zayn’s back felt pressed against his chest and the hot coil in his stomach as Zayn whispered his name. It wasn’t the most vivid memory Harry’s had, but it’s the one that sticks with him the most.

Harry’s affection for his family and friends grows with every day. When he sits down with Liam and Louis to talk about the day camps they’re signing their children up for, they do so with a round of beers and chicken wings. They argue about the timing and who’s picking up whose child and what the dates for the camps are. They make a schedule and stick to it then proceed to get so drunk Louis vomits in one of Harry’s potted plants.

By the time Amara is graduating from nursery, Harry’s shaking parent’s hands and holding Zayn’s happily, praying everything works out.

Things are looking up and Harry can’t help but to remain optimistic.

~

It makes sense then, that just as things are looking up, Anne calls him.

He’s just finished with a client when he sees that she has called him twice in the past thirty four minutes. He strips the table of the thin paper lining it then sits down on it. He’s dialing her back within an instant.

“Hello Harry,” Anne answers coolly.

“Hi. Is everything alright?” He chews his thumbnail and stares at his diploma on the wall.

“I don’t know. You haven’t called or texted me in weeks.”

“I’ve been busy.” _And a phone works both ways_ dies in his throat.

“This is getting ridiculous Harry. When are you coming home?”

Harry kicks his feet up and watches them swing. “I'm not.”

“You’re not?” Anne repeats, patronizingly. “And what are you going to do? Play house? Pretend to be a father when you have the mentality of a nineteen year old? What about Nick? What’s Nick doing?”

“I don’t know what Nick’s doing, mum. And I don’t care. I'm not playing house either. I love those kids.”

“How about Zayn? Are you still living with Liam?”

If Anne’s going to be immature, Harry can be just as short with her. “I moved back home. I moved in with Zayn and Amara and Madeline. Those are their names.”

“I know their names. You still send Christmas cards for Christ’s sake. I'm just saying Harry, that you’ve got to think about what’s best for those girls. Is it really for the best to have a father who doesn’t remember them?”

“I don’t need to. I love them and I am their father.”

“Oh Harry. Do you really think you can be a good father? You can’t love them like you used to.”

“I may not remember everything, but at least I'm there for them mum. That’s more than I can say about you.” Harry closes his eyes against the burning at the backs of his eyes. “You lied to me and tried to trick me into being someone I'm not and never have been. You’re my mother. You’re supposed to do what’s best for me.”

“I was Harry! I still am, which is why I'm asking you to come home. Do you honestly think you can be happy? You made irrational decisions as a teenager and you have the opportunity to change it now. You’re better than this.”

“Better than what? I have children who think the world of me and a husband that loves me. Which is more than I can say about you.”

Harry hangs up while he can.

His hands are shaking and stands on shaky legs to walk over to his water bottle. He has an appointment in ten minutes and he still has to sanitize his table and refill his incense. He refuses to let Anne get the best of him at work.

~

Harry’s wide awake and boiling hot. The summer has been warmer than expected and it’s already reaching the early twenties.

The thought of the cool upstairs – where the windows are thrown wide open and his family is sleeping – has him struggling to sleep. Amara’s recital is in three days and she’s been bouncing back and forth from excited to nervous to adamant that she is never _ever_ going to dance again. He had sent her to bed with extra kisses and cuddles until she was squirming away and running to Zayn.

He had barely caught her with the way he was cradling Madeline in his arms. Amara had squealed much too loudly for their small house, yanking on Mady’s toes until she was asking to be let down. Harry had chased after her, scooping her up to blow wet raspberries into her tummy as he walked her to the bathroom.

Their bath was playful, with Zayn and Harry kneeling side by side to wash their hair and see who could do it the fasted. It was just the night he needed after the stressful conversation he had had with Anne. Even after the girls were asleep, Harry hadn’t wanted to bring up the conversation with Zayn. They made popcorn and watched Say Yes to the Dress then went their separate ways.

Now that he’s thought about his conversation with Anne, that’s all Harry can think about. He tosses and turns and thinks about how he’s a good father. He knows he is. Zayn tells him all the time how well he’s doing and even Louis has texted him to say that he thinks Harry’s been great with the girls.

Still, Harry spent his entire childhood vying for the attention and praise of his mother. To have her doubt his capability as a father, drives him mad. He needs reassurance.

Harry tosses the blanket off and wanders up the stairs. He peeks his head into Amara’s room and pulls the blanket up under her chin. Madeline is sprawled like a starfish with the blankets around her feet. When he touches it, she fusses, rolling onto her side.

Harry freezes. He waits for her to exhale and decides that he’d rather her sleep in peace than be disturbed.

It’s easy to find the second door on the left, the one he knows Zayn is behind. The television light from inside shines out from underneath the door. He knocks once, then twice before sneaking in.

“Can’t sleep?” Zayn asks. He has a sleep rumpled smile. He doesn’t seem surprised.

Harry nods, scratching at his elbow. He tries very hard not to stare at where Zayn’s foot sticks out from under the cover. It shouldn’t look as cute as it does.

“I actually – I want to talk about something.”

Zayn sits halfway up in the bed. He rests on his elbow and lets the duvet fall enough to show that he’s not wearing a shirt. Harry tries not to stare.

“Is everything okay?”

“My mum called me today.”

“She what?” Zayn asks, scrubbing his eye.

“She called and said I wasn’t a good father. And I know that I'm not, but I really don’t want to be alone right now.”

“Come on.” Zayn grabs the covers and lifts it enough to let Harry in.

Harry scoots around the bed and crawls in. Faced with Zayn in bed, Harry hopes that for his sanity, Zayn’s wearing pants. Zayn turns the television off and they settle into darkness.

Harry worms his way closer to Zayn. He’s breathing fairly heavily from his attempt to whisper.

“She just, she put this idea in my head that I'm not a good father because I don’t remember anything.”

“You remember plenty.”

“I don’t. I don’t remember what counts.”

“Hey.” Zayn reaches out blindly. His hand comes up to Harry’s waist and he slides it until it’s resting on Harry’s hips. “The girls don’t care that you can’t remember yoga poses or that strawberry jam is only used on Tuesdays and blueberry is for Friday. They don’t care that you forget where their toys go because it teaches them to clean up after themselves and they love that they’re able to boss you around.”

Harry inhales shakily. He buries his face in his pillow for a second. It smells undeniably like Zayn. “What about you though?”

“You’re trying. You’re trying and that’s all I can ask for.”

It’s late, much later than it should be and Harry blames his emotions solely on that. He doesn’t know if he should stay or if he should go now that the conversation is over.

Luckily, Zayn slides a bit closer. He wraps his arm around Harry’s waist tentatively. It’s been weeks, _months_ , since Harry can remember getting off and he’s been waking up hard and craving intimacy since he thought he was engaged to Nick. Just Zayn’s touch makes him want to squirm closer.

“This alright?” Zayn asks. His breath fans across Harry’s face, closer than he had thought his face was. “Don’t worry, alright?”

Harry hums and when Zayn doesn’t say anything more, Harry just goes for it. He leans in and places a kiss to the corner of Zayn’s lips. He’s off by an inch, but it doesn’t matter because Harry’s kissing him and he can’t believe it. But Zayn stiffens.

Harry feels him withdraw and whispers his name, just once. It’s just a plea, of Zayn’s name said so softly that he doesn’t even know if Zayn’s heard it.

Harry thinks of all the ways he could die from embarrassment. Maybe the bed could swallow him whole or he could find a way to roll out the window and flee, but then Zayn’s licking softly against Harry’s lips; as if he’s licking his own and is just so close to Harry that he winds up licking his as well. And then Zayn’s kissing him properly, with gentleness and thin lips.

Zayn has a quick tongue and he uses it to lick into Harry’s mouth. He pulls Harry closer, hooks a foot around his ankle, and then he’s pressing his chest against Harry’s. Harry wants to cry with how happy he is that he feels a connection with Zayn after days of static between them.

Of all of the things Harry has been most nervous about since his accident, Zayn’s feelings towards him have remained at the top of the list. His hesitancy is eradicated as Zayn kisses his lips over and over, soft pants of Harry’s name falling from his lips.

Eventually, after Harry’s lips feel used and sore, Harry kisses Zayn one last time. It’s late and they’ve both got work in the morning. Harry finds minimal protest in turning over and snuggling back into Zayn’s chest.

~

“Hello!” Harry cheers as soon as he steps foot into the kitchen.

Amara waves her fork around while she chews as Mady calls out a loud, happy, gurgling greeting.

“How are my girls this morning?” He asks, kissing each on the top of the head. He’s feeling chipper this morning and it only increases when he glances at Zayn and sees him smiling back.

“Good!” Mady shouts.

“I ate all my blueberries,” Amara announces.

“That’s excellent baby. Did you finish yours Miss Madeline?” He pulls her shirt down her tummy from where it’s risen up.

“Got more on the ground than in her mouth,” Zayn laughs. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Harry leans in to plant a quick peck on Zayn’s mouth before letting him return to the sandwiches he’s making. He tries very hard not to blush when he catches sight of Zayn’s smirk.

Harry hadn’t heard him wake up this morning, but he was hardly bothered when he woke up alone.

“Are you excited for your play date with David and Chloe today?”

“Mhmm!” Mady cheers.

“Is Beckham coming?” Amara asks.

“Nope. He’s with Auntie El,” Zayn says. He hands Harry a bowl of yogurt over blueberries and granola.

Amara pouts and steals a blueberry from her sister’s bowl. “Can I please play with my toys before I go then?”

“Nothing messy,” Harry warns. “I like your shirt, Zayn.”

“You got it for me for Christmas.” It’s just a plain navy shirt, yet it hangs off his body perfectly. If Harry was one of Zayn’s patients, he’s positive he wouldn’t get any art done.

“I have good taste then.”

Harry picks Madeline up and squeezes her into a hug.

“No, daddy. Up.”

“Up?” Harry asks, kissing her cheek. He tosses her up in the air and listens to her shriek of a giggle echo around the room.

“Gain, gain!”

Harry obliges. He keeps his hands under her armpits as he tosses her in the air.

“She’s going to puke on you,” Zayn warns.

“Nuh-uh.” Harry does it again, catching Mady low and bending over so he can pretend to eat her hands.

“Eat your breakfast Harry, you’ve got to leave in ten minutes.”

Harry ignores Zayn in favour of playing with his tiny girl. “Baba’s no fun,” Harry tells Madeline.

She hiccups once before spitting up down her dress.

~

Steam follows Harry out of the bathroom and into the room he shares with Zayn.

They haven’t talked about the kiss all day and despite Harry’s best efforts, he hadn’t gotten another kiss out of him since the morning.

“Are you feeling better today?” Zayn asks. He clicks his phone into its charger and rolls until he’s facing Harry.

“Loads. I think I just let her get in my head and I can’t let her.”

“Well, she’s your mum. I get that that might be hard.”

“You have no reason to defend her you know.” Harry climbs into his side of the bed in nothing but his boxers. His hairs a bit damp still, but if he blow dries it, it will be a puffy mess.

“I'm not,” Zayn shrugs. “I just want you to know that whatever you’re feeling is fine.”

“I don’t really want to talk about it right now.” The lights are still on and Harry can see Zayn’s face perfectly. He looks calm and sleepy, but the bags under his eyes have disappeared completely.

“No worries. Are you done? I'm going to turn off the lights, I'm knackered.”

“Sure.”

Zayn gets up and Harry takes the opportunity to watch him. His boxers stick to the backs of his thighs and outline his ass. He’s got a tattoo a small spider web on the back of his right thigh that matches the one Louis has on his calf. His back is smooth; a perfect triangle that goes from broad shoulders to slim hips.

Harry thinks about kissing his shoulder blades, licking the dip in his lower back. Zayn’s back would look wonderful littered with love bites and fingertip bruises. God, Harry’s been waiting to snog his face off all day.

When the lights flick off, Harry closes his eyes, feigning as though he was never looking in the first place. The bed dips and the springs creak. Zayn radiates heat.

Harry opens his eyes, reaching out for Zayn already, but –

But Zayn’s back’s facing him and there’s a foot between them.

Harry tries not to take it personally.

~

He does when it happens for the third time, then the fourth, and then the fifth.

Zayn always happens to avoid it. He faces the other way by the time Harry slips into bed or he suddenly has to use the bathroom. Zayn sits in the kitchen and answers emails until well past Harry is in bed. There’s only so many times Harry can stare at the same pictures on his Instagram feed until he has to set it down and admit defeat. They stay up sometimes and talk, but it doesn’t end with a snog and Harry can’t settle the burning disappointment any longer.

So Harry tries harder. He makes fancier dinners and pours Zayn a glass of wine. Harry gives him a lengthy shoulder massage while the girls give them a fashion show. He organizes the coat closet and scrubs the kitchen counters until their sparkling and shiny. They do the dishes together and Zayn flicks dish soap at him and Harry just _takes_ it.

And it works is the thing. Zayn hugs him goodbye and kisses him hello – but they’re small kisses. They’re fleeting and light, with no more passion than a high five would contain. Harry wants more and he doesn’t think it’s greedy of him. Now that he’s gotten a taste of what kissing Zayn is like, he wants to go further.

They spend Saturday doing yoga in the park again. Harry leads half of it then lets Amara lead meditation. It involves a lot of humming. Zayn sits in the kitchen with them and takes pictures of Harry and the girls making chocolate chip cookies. Zayn ruffles Harry’s hair and kisses him on the cheek.

Harry’s dick no longer jumps at the small touches. He doesn’t know if it’s good or bad. It’s confusing as hell to feel such a mixture of emotions and he doesn’t know how to approach it. For all the comfort he feels in his relationship with Zayn, it’s more of a roommate situation than it is of a romantic partnership.

“We should go out for dinner tomorrow,” Harry suggests. He’s snuggled under the covers and is determined to get something – anything – out of Zayn. It’s late and he knows he’s not going to get anything more than a hand on his waist at best.

“Sure. There’s this pasta place up by Liam’s and the girls love it.”

“Yeah? Do you like it?”

“Well enough.”

Harry can’t see Zayn, but he’s lived with him long enough to assume he’s shrugged. “Okay. Well what if it’s just the two of us?”

“What about the girls?”

“We can get Liam and Soph to watch them.”

“Sophia’s about a month away from giving birth. We can’t do that.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Fine. I’ll ask Louis to watch them.” Harry says. And when Zayn doesn’t respond he adds, “Or Niall.”

“Alright.”

Harry huffs at Zayn’s lack of enthusiasm. He flips over so he’s on his other side, staring at the wall rather than staring at Zayn’s back.

~

Zayn stumbles downstairs bleary eyed and in pajama pants and a sleep shirt at half past ten. He was wearing neither of those last night, Harry thinks to himself as he flips an egg.

It’s later than either of them has ever woken up in years due to the kids being gone. It’s the first thing that Zayn notices.

“Where are the girls?”

Harry tries to keep his voice even when he says, “With Niall.”

“Already? I thought they weren’t going over until tonight.”

Harry picks up the coffee press and pours Zayn a cup. He woke up determined to fix whatever weirdness was going on with Zayn and making him a nice breakfast – free of spit up and shrieking – was the way to start it out. It doesn’t stop his stomach from twisting into knots though.

“Well, you were asleep.”

Zayn sits down, eying Harry. “How long have you been awake for?”

“A couple hours. I couldn’t sleep.” Harry doesn’t admit that he woke up with a stiffy and had to crawl out from under Zayn’s arm. That he spent an hour and a half anxiously playing out how this scenario was going to go; a good morning kiss followed by a good morning hug, breakfast while they played footsies then a romantic walk in the park. It doesn’t seem to be going as planned.

Zayn’s looking at Harry like he’s grown a second head.

“I didn’t know we had bacon.”

“I went to Tesco’s. It’s turkey bacon. You said I liked that.”

“You do. But Harry. What’s going on. This is… weird.”

“Why is it weird? I'm making breakfast.”

“Because-”

That’s when Harry breaks. He drops the pan of sizzling bacon back onto the stove and hisses when grease spits onto his arm. He’s still not wearing a shirt.

“I'm trying!” Harry shouts at the same time Zayn jumps up and says, “Jesus, Harry!”

His arm stings, but Harry doesn’t want to run it under water. It’s not a big deal. Harry would rather talk about what’s going on between them than worry about a tiny smatter of bacon grease.

Zayn moves to inspect his arm, but Harry moves his arm away and holds it protectively. “Why don’t you want to kiss me?” Harry sounds pathetic, even to his own ears.

“I – I kiss you all the time.”

“On the cheek!” Harry explodes. “You’ve kissed me once and then never again.”

“I didn’t want to overwhelm you.”

“Overwhelm me? I’ve been throwing myself at you! It’s embarrassing how hard I’ve been trying.”

“I didn’t – I didn’t know.”

“How could you not know? I’ve been trying my hardest to be the person that you and the girls need, but it seems like I'm the only one making an effort!” Before Zayn can say anything else, Harry corrects himself. “And I love it. I love them and I love this life I have. But I don’t like how you won’t even look at me for longer than ten seconds.”

“It’s because I don’t know what you want from me.”

Harry stares at the pan of burning bacon, wishing he could throw it against the wall. “Tell me the truth!”

“I'm not lying to you! I never have Harry.”

“You might not be lying, but you’re keeping things from me. I know you are!”

“I'm not keeping anything from you.” Zayn’s hands are up as if Harry’s going to shoot him. He looks frightened and mildly confused with the way his eyebrows are drawn in and his lips are pursed.

“You are. I can feel you pull away, Zayn. I can feel the distance and it hurts. I feel like I always have to do something first and it sucks.”

“I'm trying to be open with you, but it’s hard.”

Harry scoffs, shaking his head. “You know what’s hard Zayn? Waking up without a fucking memory of my fucking life!” It’s dramatic and damn _loud_ , but Harry’s past the point of caring. Zayn’s finally silent from where he’s fuming across from Harry and Harry feels powerful and angry and spiteful all at once. “You say you’ve been forthcoming with information and that’s bullshit Zayn. Nick’s more open with me than you are!”

Like a slap to the face, Zayn visibly recoils.

He very coolly, very calmly takes a step closer to Harry. Zayn locks eyes with Harry and takes a steadying breath. Harry, for the life of him, can’t seem to get any air pulled into his lungs.

“Maybe you should have married Nick then.”

Harry flounders. He opens his mouth, but no words come out. By the time he’s gathered himself from the shock of Zayn’s intensity, the slam of the front door echoes around him.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry picks himself up off the floor when his eyes stop stinging and his heart rate slows to a normal pace.

Too much time was spent staring at the door, waiting for Zayn to walk back through it. The smell of burnt egg and bacon is so strong, Harry has to turn off the burners and throw out the pans.

Regret sits heavy in Harry’s chest as he trudges up the stairs and puts on a shirt. The sheets are rumpled, kicked down to the bottom of the bed, unruly and unmade. Harry would normally be quick to stretch the duvet over top of the pillows. Now, Harry face plants into Zayn’s side of the bed and breathes in his scent.

He had had such high hopes for how this day would go. He was going to make a beautiful breakfast followed by a possible snog on the couch that would lead them to getting lost in each other until it was lunchtime. Then there was going to be more snogging and heavy petting and then a romantic dinner that would end with lots of kisses and touches and hopefully orgasms.

Harry doesn’t want to break first. He doesn’t want to call Zayn or message him and show his vulnerability. Now more than ever Harry wishes he knew how to react in these situations with Zayn. Surely, they’ve got in an argument before, but does Zayn always leave?

Does he always flee when things got tough and harsh words are exchanged? Should Harry have gone after him or let him go?

It’s not fair for Zayn to do this to Harry; to leave him completely in the dark on how to respond.

Harry pounds his fist into Zayn’s pillow then drags his body out of bed to find his phone. His thumb hits three different contact numbers until he reaches halfway through the alphabet.

“It’s me,” Harry says, throat tight and eyes swollen. “Where are you?”

~

Harry’s nestled between Amara and Madeline by the time Zayn finally decides to come home. It’s half-past seven and Harry’s exhausted from being with the girls and Niall all day. Niall had left a couple minutes prior, with sad eyes and a tight hug to give Harry and the unsuspecting girls.

“Baba!” Amara cheers when the front door slams shut.

“Hi baby. I didn’t know you were going to be home.”

“Mhmm!” Harry eavesdrops from the couch in the family room. He cradles Madeline and lets her suck on one of his fingers. “I went to swimming with Uncle Ni and me and Mady were playing mermaids then daddy showed up and we did water yoga!”

“You did, did you?” Harry squeezes his eyes closed. He doesn’t know what Amara’s going to say next, but he prays it’s nothing about the way his eyes had been red and he had obviously been sniffling when he showed up to the pool.

“Yeah-huh. Then Uncle Ni came over and we made peanut butter biscuits and daddy let us have chocolate milk then we cuddled and watched a movie. And I had four cookies and they were so yummy.”

“Oh so daddy didn’t know you’re only allowed two biscuits a day?”

Harry freezes. Mady gurgles and tilts her head back, seemingly done with getting Harry’s finger disgustingly wet. He can’t even find it in him to be disgruntled about it with the way she’s smiling at him. For a moment, Harry lets all his stress melt away and kisses Mady’s button nose.

“Nope. He was frowny so I was extra good.”

Harry has to strain to hear Zayn’s, “I bet you were.”

Mady starts fussing in Harry’s arms. She wiggles around, huffing when Harry doesn’t remove his arms from under her back. She whines loudly, sounding like she’s about to burst out in tears. “Daddy down.”

“You don’t want to keep cuddling?” Harry asks, betrayed by both daughters wanting to leave him to greet Zayn.

“No!”

“Yikes, alright.” Harry tips Madeline right side up and sets her down on her chubby legs. Her dress is tucked into the back of her diaper as she toddles away.

Harry grabs the remote and petulantly turns the volume back up. They’re at the point in Ben and Holly’s Little Kingdom where Princess Holly chooses the Wise Wand 3000 and ditches the old one. It keeps complimenting Holly and Harry feels offended for the old wand as he watches how much Princess Holly seems to love the new wand more.

“Hey,” Zayn greets from behind Harry.

“You started it without me!” Amara shrieks. She races around the couch to Harry and jumps on the cushion beside him.

“Hi,” Harry nods. He doesn’t turn around.

“Do you have a plan for dinner or should I make something?”

It shouldn’t irritate Harry as much as it does, Zayn asking what the plan for dinner is. They’ve had this conversation multiple times a week and it’s generally fine, but there’s something about the way Zayn has wandered in, after no message or call to let him know that he was coming back that irritates Harry.

“I don’t have anything in mind.”

“Daddy, I’m not hungry. I ate biscuits.”

“You still need dinner Mar,” Harry tells her. He twists in the seat to look up at Zayn – just to take in how he looks and if he looks as exhausted as Harry feels. Their argument feels like eons ago instead of just hours. Guilt has been weighing heavy on Harry’s heart since he said those cruel words to Zayn. Yet Zayn’s harsh words and his untimely exit angered Harry just as much.

“Maybe if she didn’t have twice as many biscuits as she’s allowed, she wouldn’t be full,” Zayn snipes.

Harry bites his tongue. He’s not going to take Zayn’s bait and argue with him, especially not in front of the children.

“We’ll have something light then. I can make some chicken soup. Does that sound good?” He asks Amara.

“Can it have extra peas?” She asks with a pouted lower lip.

Harry kisses her nose. “Obviously,” he grins.

He hoists himself up, leaving Princess Holly to figure out what she’ll do with her new wand, to make his way to the kitchen.

While cooking supper, Harry is hyper-aware of what’s going on in the room next to him. He doesn’t want to have to talk to Zayn right now. Not when there has been no closure from their argument and Harry’s still visibly upset.

Dinner is a quiet affair.

Harry hadn’t realized quite how far Zayn and he had come until they don’t communicate during dinner. There’s no mid-bite kiss or foot rubbing under the table. Harry doesn’t lose track of Amara’s stories because he’s too busy staring at Zayn. They talk to Amara and fawn over Madeline and Zayn does the dishes without argument.

Harry draws with the girls and spends ten minutes trying to get Madeline to stop trying to eat the sparkle gel. It’s coming up on their bath time and Harry’s infinitely grateful that this day is over.

“Alright girls,” Zayn says coming into the room, “bath time.”

“No!” Madeline shouts. She grabs a tube of green sparkle gel and takes off running.

Zayn’s not quick enough to grab her, so Harry gets up and starts chasing her. She makes it halfway up the stairs before Harry’s grabbing her around her middle and lifting her above his head in victory.

“Daddy! Down!”

“You are very grumpy today Miss Mady,” Harry chastises.

“Down!” Madeline shrieks, kicking her feet. Harry wobbles, bringing Mady down to his chest before she throws him off balance enough to have him topple down the stairs. He takes the sparkle gel from her before putting her down and she takes off down the stairs as quick as she had gone up them.

“I’ll give the girls a bath,” Zayn says when Harry re-enters the room. The craft’s table is organized once more and their pictures are drying on the table.

“I can help.”

“I’ve got it.” Zayn swings Madeline upside down then hoists her so she’s on her stomach in his arms. She doesn’t squirm or cause a fuss like she had with Harry. Instead, she spreads her arms and starts making airplane noises. Amara clings to Zayn’s leg with more enthusiasm than she’d shown Harry all day.

Harry tries not to feel bitter and rejected. He fails miserably.

He strips down to his boxers then grabs his laptop. He checks his Facebook messages and responds to the few people he’s kept slow moving conversations with; James and Ben and Jeff all message him a few times a week to check in and offer to take him out for drinks.

Harry has music softly playing in the background when Zayn comes back.

“Hey,” he greets, stripping out of his shirt.

Harry tries very hard not to stare at him. “Hi.” Harry pauses, licking his lips and averting his eyes. “Should we talk?”

“Let me brush my teeth first.” Zayn doesn’t look at him as he takes off his jeans and makes his way to their bathroom in nothing but his pants.

Harry turns off his music and closes his laptop before grabbing his phone one last time. He opens a text message to thank Niall for watching the girls as well as to apologize for cutting their time short. He rolls his eyes at Niall’s, ‘I’ll just watch the girls next time you want some alone time ;) 8--D’

“Want me to leave the light on?” Zayn asks, standing by the light switch by their door.

Harry thinks about how difficult this conversation is going to be. How he’s going to have to put his heart on his sleeve and try to articulate everything he wants to say. He wants to see Zayn’s face for that.

“Um. Yes please. I’m actually going to say goodnight to the girls. I haven’t done that yet.” Because I was avoiding you goes unsaid.

Harry sneaks into Amara’s room first. She sighs and reaches out for him even though she’s half asleep. Her eyes are lazy and her smile dazed. “Goodnight my angel. Thanks for being the best big girl ever.”

“Love you daddy,” she mumbles, puckering her lips for a kiss.

Harry smacks his lips against hers before pressing a kiss to her forehead. It seems to pacify her as she rolls onto her side.

Madeline isn’t even awake when Harry goes in to say goodnight. She’s snuffling into her bedding with her hands balled up into tiny fists. Harry ducks down to kiss her cheek then, with a heavy heart, walks back to his bedroom.

The lights are off when Harry gets there.

His nervousness goes up tenfold as he twists the door open and steps inside. Zayn is lying on his side, facing where Harry would normally sleep.

“You awake?” Harry asks as he slips under the covers.

“Yeah. I’m just exhausted. I don’t know if we should talk about this right now.”

Harry tries not to feel agitated as he slides into the bed. “But we need to Zayn. It’s important that we have healthy communication.” Harry strains to make out any of Zayn’s facial features.

“I’m tired and I don’t want to say anything I’ll regret.”

“Where did you go today?” Harry pushes, spreading his fingers wide on the bedsheet.

“Louis’. Beckham was with El.”

Harry clenches his teeth, biting back the harsh words crawling up his throat. “What did you do all day?”

“Played Fifa.”

“You played Fifa?” Harry’s voice goes up at the end angrily. “Zayn-”

“I said I didn’t want to talk right now, okay Harry?” Zayn flips over noisily. It bounces the entire bed and the springs creak beneath his weight.

“Fine, alright.” Harry flips over so he’s facing away from Zayn as well. Two can play at this game.

Harry closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Then another, and another, until he finally starts to relax.

~

Harry’s having another off day in the office.

His clients are lovely and Cho is as friendly as ever. He has tea with Remi in the lunchroom between his appointments and constantly checks his messages for anything from Zayn. He just can’t seem to get yesterday off his mind long enough to do anything productive at work. 

He’s in the middle of helping someone strengthen their infraspinatus muscle when Cho knocks on the door. Harry hesitantly pauses the appointment to open the door minutely.

“Sorry to interrupt, but you know I wouldn’t do it unless it was an emergency.”

Instantly, Harry’s heart begins to race. “Is Zayn okay?”

“Zayn’s fine. Amara has a stomach bug and threw up at her football camp.”

“Oh God. Okay.” Harry composes himself. He worriedly goes through the motions of collecting his bags while Cho reschedules and refunds his patient.

Harry jogs to the park where Amara has her football practice and spots her sitting on the park bench, clutching her stomach.

“Oh, baby,” Harry coos. He scoops Amara into his arms and positions her so her legs are wrapped around his stomach. He rocks her back and forth, making his way towards one of the two coaches. She has a whistle around her neck and can’t be older than a sixth form student.

“Hi, I’m Mr. Malik,” he says panicked. Amara groans into his shoulder and buries her face there. She clings to the fabric of his shirt.

“Melissa, hi. We met last year. Anyway, Amara wasn’t feeling too well so we let her sit out. Then we took her to the bathroom because we thought she had to go potty. She puked all in the toilet.”

“Should I clean it up? I’m so sorry.”

Melissa shakes her head and laughs lightly. She glances over her shoulder to ensure her co-coach is watching the children. “It’s cleaned. We called your husband too and he said he was on his way.”

“Alright, thank you. Thanks so much.” Harry pushes Amara’s hair off her face and kisses her forehead. Her skin feels cold, but she’s sweating.

“We’re just going to wait for baba. Is that alright darling?”

“Mhmm,” Amara nods miserably. “Where’s Mady?”

“With Chloe and Auntie Soph.”

“I want to stay. I want to spend time with Becks and David.”

“I know baby.” Harry gently rocks her side to side. “Tomorrow, okay? You need lots of sleep and big girl rest.” Harry feels positively helpless. He’s never dealt with a sick child and he doesn’t know what to do now. All he can manage is kissing Amara’s forehead and whispering that everything will be okay.

Zayn shows up less than two minutes later. He plucks Amara from Harry’s arms and begins whispering in her ear. Amara nods and clutches onto Zayn like she had to Harry.

“I drove here,” Zayn informs Harry. Harry follows them to their car and watches Zayn strap their eldest daughter in. “We need to buy some medicine.”

“Alright, yeah.” Harry glances back to where Amara’s clutching her stomach. She looks adorable in her football kit with her little cleats, but it’s tainted by how poorly she looks.

The car ride is silent and when they pull up to the market, Harry gets out of the car to run to the medicinal section. He grabs three bottles of children’s cold and flu syrups along with chewable tablets that the pharmacist recommends.

He taps his foot when the lady in front of him can’t count her coins fast enough and nearly strangles the cashier when she can’t swipe the tablets he bought. He runs to the car and turns to make sure Amara is still there.

As it is, she’s out like a light.

“Thanks,” Zayn says as he puts the car into reverse.

“No problem.” Harry hums to the melody before turning up whatever’s playing on the radio. He sings a few lines before he recalls who it is. “Oh, I love Sam Smith.”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve been listening to his albums a lot. The first one’s sort of sad. I like the second one better.”

Zayn takes a left, nearly at their neighbourhood. “We had our first dance to one off the second album.”

“Really?” Harry perks up. Zayn’s not as closed off as he was moments ago. “Which one?”

“Made For You.”

“Oh! The one about soulmates. I like that one.”

“Yeah, you chose it.”

Zayn takes a left into their neighbourhood and then pulls into their driveway.

Harry unstraps Amara and takes her out of the car seat. Once they’re inside, he shuffles to her room and lays her in her bed, then makes his way downstairs to where Zayn’s steeping tea in the kitchen.

Harry sits at the table and wraps his fingers around his warm mug. He jiggles his foot and focuses his breathing. “Listen,” Harry pauses and stares into the tea. Unsure of his timing, but knowing it needs to be said. “I’m sorry for the way I acted yesterday.”

“Thanks.” Zayn sits across from Harry at the table and stares into his mug. “I shouldn’t have said that. You shouldn’t have married Nick.”

“Yeah. I wouldn’t’ve wanted that. I like being with you and I love the girls.” Harry chews on his lower lip, knowing he has to be sensitive. “I do want to talk about our communication though.”

“Okay.” Zayn’s not looking at him though, so Harry fiddles with his wedding ring.

“Okay. So, I feel like you’re tiptoeing around me. Liam and Niall have told me so much about my life and even Louis has told me things about Gemma and Nick and I just feel like you’re the only one who won’t really open up.”

Zayn opens his mouth before thinking better and closing it.

“No, what were you going to say?” Harry edges. He blows on his tea. It smells like roses.

“You don’t know what it’s like,” Zayn grumbles. “I thought you died Harry. I got a phone call and I come rushing to the hospital and I couldn’t even see you for four hours while they assessed you and bandaged you up and you weren’t even, God, you weren’t even conscious.”

“Zayn-”

“It was so fucking scary. And I come in and I hold your hand and the first thing you say is Nick’s name. The first fucking thing.”

“Oh.” Harry’s skin crawls with how horrible that must have been for Zayn. He’s always been a jealous partner and Harry can’t imagine that Zayn is much different. Especially given their history. “Is that why you asked him to come in?”

“Yeah. I didn’t want to, but I wanted you to be comfortable. I know I haven’t handled this very well, but I have Amara and Mady and they need me. They need me 100% and I can’t risk anything with them. If you and I don’t work out… I just don’t want to rush anything. Maybe you shouldn’t have moved back home as quickly as you did. It doesn’t seem to be working.”

“No. No Zayn, you can’t mean that.”

“This is really hard on the both of us.” Zayn’s running his pointer finger across his eyebrow. It’s a tell that he’s nervous. “We say really mean things when we’re angry Harry.”

“So?” Harry explodes. He sits up straighter. He wants to splash his tea all over the table. “We’re married Zayn. Surely we’ve had bigger fights than this. I’m not going to give up on us because we can’t talk about our fucking problems!”

Harry finds a twisted satisfaction with the way Zayn winces.

“Don’t yell Harry, Amara’s trying to sleep.”

“Great, so we have more time to talk about this. I want us to move forward! I don’t want to move out again, I don’t want to separate. I want to live in this house with Amara and Mady and you because I think you’re all fucking brilliant. I think Amara’s bossier than hell, but she’s going to be prime minister and an astronaut and a baker all at once. And Mady can barely run, but she’s going to be feisty as hell and I can’t wait for that.” Harry can feel himself getting choked up. “And I love them Zayn. I hardly remember anything, but there are things I just know and I know I love them.” Harry takes a deep breath and stares at the table. “And I know I could love you. I could. I don’t want to give up.”

“I’m not asking you to Harry. I’m just-”

“You’re just what, Zayn? I can’t fucking remember the last six years of my life!”

“Well I can!” Zayn hisses. “I remember everything and it kills me. You don’t think I miss the old you? You don’t think I miss curling up with you at night and kissing you and having sex? All the inside jokes we have or the traditions we’ve made for when the girls go to bed? You don’t think I miss arguing about our schedules and when we’re going to make the drive up to visit my family? You don’t think I miss talking to you about our mutual friends or reminiscing about university?”

“Then tell me! Sit me down and tell me about all of it. That’s my fucking point Zayn!”

“Daddy?” Amara asks, shuffling into the kitchen. She has her blanket clutched in one hand and the other scrubbing her eyes.

Harry’s up and out of his seat before he can even catch his breath. His face is flushed and he’s heaving, but he still wraps his girl up in his arms.

“Why are you and baba arguing?”

“We’re not arguing baby, we’re just really excited.”

“Nuh-uh,” Amara accuses. She wraps her fingers in Harry’s shirt and twists. “You were saying mean words.”

“We-”

Amara starts crying into Harry’s shoulder and he stares at Zayn helplessly. Zayn’s frozen in his chair, watching it unfold with worried eyes.

“What’s wrong baby girl? Do you want some water?”

“I don’t want you to leave again!” She wails. She gets snot and spit all over her mouth and she starts properly sobbing, loud and ugly.

“Oh baby,” Harry coos, scooping her into his arms. He looks towards Zayn and shakes his head. “I’m not leaving ever again, I promise.”

“Don’t leave,” Amara begs and Harry bounces her in his arms.

“I’m not. I love you so much, okay? I love you.” He keeps repeating it, pressing it into her hair with kisses and holding her so tight he can touch his own elbows. Zayn’s by his side after that, stroking Amara’s hair. He has an arm on Harry’s lower back like he knows he needs the strength and it’s nice.

Amara keeps sniffling and crying and Harry shushes her as best he can. He peers over at Zayn and is immensely pleased when he returns a soft smile. Amara eventually passes out again and Harry presses one last kiss to her now burning forehead.

~

Amara breaks out into a fever later that afternoon.

Liam offers to keep Mady at his place even though Sophia’s a week away from giving birth and for that Harry is eternally grateful.

Harry and Zayn take turns feeding Amara small ice chips and wiping a cold cloth down her face. She eats a few digestive biscuits and watches Peppa Pig for five hours. Zayn’s bone tired next to Harry when Amara finally falls asleep on the couch. They’re both well past the point of exhaustion, from taking care of Amara and from fighting.

“Zayn,” Harry whispers, frightened to wake Amara. “I’m sorry about earlier. I was selfish and didn’t think about what you must be going through.” He brushes his hand over Amara’s hair and thinks about everything he’s wanted to say since she overheard them arguing.

“Do you want to put her to bed and then we can talk about this in our room?”

Harry warily eyes their peaceful daughter. Talking to Zayn while she slept by their side somewhat of a security blanket for him.

“Of course.” Harry walks around to the front of the couch and lifts her into his arms. Zayn stays close behind as Harry quietly climbs the stairs. He pulls back the covers and sets her into her bed, leaving the tiny night lamp on before he shuts the door.

“You were right when you said I was keeping things from you,” Zayn explains. They sit cross legged on the bed – Harry at the top against the pillows and Zayn at the end. “The hospital called Anne before she called me and I was a mess. It’s like – you’re my husband, we’ve built this life together and to hear that you were in the hospital, unconscious… It was distressing.”

Harry thinks back to the first few cloudy days. He barely remembers anything from the first couple days in the hospital, everything a blur of nurses and drugs.

“Once when found out what year you thought it was, your mum suggested we call Nick so you could wake up to someone familiar and I had so many things to think about – the kids, your job, our bills, the fact that you were supposed to make dinner.” Harry smiles sheepishly at Zayn. “I don’t know, just, I went along with it because I didn’t think it would do any harm. I thought Nick was going to tell you everything, but,” Zayn shakes his head, “he didn’t.”

Zayn’s eyes are down cast. He twists his wedding ring and Harry catches a glimpse of his initials.

“It was easier to pretend that everything was fine with you. You were getting along with your mum and you seemed happy with her so I just – I let you believe what I thought was easiest for you to believe.” Zayn slides his ring up to his knuckle then back down. “I know it’s not right and if I could go back I would have been truthful with you from the start.”

“I wouldn’t get hit by a car.”

Zayn’s lips lift into a sad smile. “Yeah, that too.”

Harry drums his fingers on his knees. “I didn’t think about how hard this must be for you. If I was in your position, I know I wouldn’t have been as strong as you’ve been. Having to relive this all… I wouldn’t be able to do it.”

“I had to. We have kids Harry and I couldn’t just abandon them.” The tips of his ears are pink as he speaks.

“I know. I’m – thank you. For the way you took care of the girls and how you didn’t try to manipulate me like my mother and Nick. This has been hard, but I meant what I said to Mar, I don’t want to move out.”

Zayn wraps his fingers around Harry’s loosely on his knee. “I didn’t anticipate how hard this was going to be for the both of us.” He hesitates for a moment. “I don’t want you to move out.”

“Good.” Harry licks his lips and blinks for just a moment. Knowing he won’t be forced to leave his girls again, knowing that he’s wanted here, takes an immeasurable weight off his shoulders. “Zayn, I don’t think I’m ever going to get my memory back.” Saying it in that room, out loud, is daunting yet freeing.

“So what?” Zayn asks simply.

“So nothing. I could live like this. I could – I’m happy. As long as we promise to communicate, then I want this.”

“Yeah?” The smile that breaks over Zayn’s face is positively beautiful. Harry doesn’t read too much into it. He doesn’t want to think that Zayn, even for a second, doubted that Harry would want to leave the life they have together.

Harry nods and flips his hand in Zayn’s and links their fingers together, squeezing tightly. It’s been a long 36 hours.

Harry leans forward to kiss Zayn on the cheek, but Zayn turns his head at the last second to catch him in a soft kiss. Harry’s fingers twitch beneath Zayn’s palm, a surprised sound slipping from his lips.

It’s a quick kiss, though Zayn’s lips still turn into a smile against his own. Harry can’t help mirroring him. With everything finally out on the table, it feels like a new beginning.

~

Things pick up from there; there are bills to pay and boo-boos to Band-Aid, there are tentative late night kisses that lead into groping and heated makeouts, and group chats with all the boys. There are Skype calls with Zayn’s family and cake batter fights that end with Mady sucking icing off her toes.

Harry returns to yoga just as Amara begins her tap dance classes. He drops her off at the door then sweats more than he ever thought possible. She whines the first time he picks her up for class drenched in sweat and flushed from exertion. It doesn’t stop her from forcing him into giving her a piggy back and yanking on his curls to turn him every which way.

Madeline begins potty training and Amara takes it upon herself to entertain her younger sister. She makes up songs about tinkling and does a pee dance with Madeline when she can’t seem to pee. Harry takes a plethora of videos and uploads them into their own folder.

~

“Harry,” Zayn groans pushing at Harry’s shoulder.

Harry grunts, burying his head in the pillow instead of waking up.

Distantly, he can hear a high pitched melody playing in the background, but tunes it out. It sounds like a television show Amara usually watches and if Zayn’s let her into their bed then it’s his responsibility to deal with it.

“Harry, it’s your phone.” Zayn unwinds one of his ankles from between Harry’s.

Harry blearily reaches out for his nightstand. His knuckles connect to the wood in a punch, sending shockwaves up his arm. He’s much more alert by the time he grabs it.

“I don’t recognize the number.”

“I don’t care,” Zayn groans, grabbing his pillow and stuffing it over his head.

“Hello?” He asks, rubbing at the sleep in his eyes.

“Harry?”

Harry bolts upright. Blood rushes to his head, dizzy spots forming in front of his eyes. He blinks multiple times, pressing his thumb and forefinger into his sockets to massage them.

“Harry? Harry are you there?”

“Yeah, yes. Hi Gem.” Zayn doesn’t sit up next to him, but he does blindly reach out to hold Harry’s hand. Harry takes it with an appreciative squeeze.

“Hi. I just got your email.”

“Where are you?” Harry asks before he can help himself.

“I'm at the airport in Sydney. Australia. Listen, Harry, I don’t have a lot of time to talk. This is a payphone and it’s going to cost you a fortune. I just got your email and I’m supposed to be flying to New Delhi, but I’ve decided to fly to London instead. Just for a few days.” She sounds the exact same as she always has; straight to the point. Harry can hear people milling about in the background and he just wants to savor her voice.

“Really? I can pay you back. I’ll pay for your flight-”

“Don’t be stupid. There’re some things I think we should talk about and it would be easier to do it face to face. So we’ll talk when I get there, alright? Email me your address.”

“Okay. Alright, I will.”

“Okay. I’ll see you soon.”

She hangs up before Harry can get another word in. He sits cross legged in bed, staring at his phone as if it was an illusion.

“Are you okay?” Zayn asks, emerging from the pillow. He stretches out, arching his back and Harry’s distracted by the arch of his back for a moment.

“Yeah. Yeah, Gemma’s coming.”

“To London?” Harry nods, placing his phone on the bedside table so he can slide down the bed and wrap an arm around Zayn’s waist. He buries himself in Zayn’s bare chest and feels the low whistle Zayn lets out. “She can stay here.”

“Will she want to?” Harry asks, suddenly panicked. “Or will she like, not want to talk to me? Is she going to yell at me?”

“Calm down,” Zayn tells him, running his hand up Harry’s bicep. Harry doesn’t ever think he’ll be able to get over the way Zayn’s touch makes him feel. “She wouldn’t come if she didn’t want to. It’s Gemma.”

“But I don’t talk to her.”

“No, but she’s your sister. You have each other on Facebook. You look at each other’s photos and know what’s happening each other’s lives. You’re not strangers. Everything will work out.”

“I just don’t want to lose her,” Harry scoots forward until he can see the freckle in Zayn’s eye.

“You won’t.” Zayn leans forward and places a kiss on Harry’s nose. “Relax, come on. We’ve got at least twenty minutes before we’ve got to get the girl’s up.”

It’s unfair how distracting Zayn is. With his lips and his hands and his tongue – oh God, his tongue makes Harry want to cry. He knows what Harry wants before Harry even asks for it. Whether it’s a little bit of tongue scraping against the back of Harry’s front teeth teasingly or sucking love bites into the hinge of Harry’s jaw – Zayn’s three steps ahead.

Harry’s thickening up in his boxers and he’s not even surprised anymore. More times than not, they make out until they’re panting and a bit sweaty, turned on and half hard, before separating and waiting it out.

But Harry’s sick of waiting. He wants to do more than tease for once. He wants to feel.

He starts with familiar territory; grazing his fingers over Zayn’s chest, running them down to Zayn’s side and stroking them back up. Zayn’s smiling against Harry’s cheek, just breathing as they explore each other. There’s not a spot on Harry’s body that Zayn hasn’t seen, but it’s all so new to Harry.

He’s shy in a way he’s never been before. Hesitant to touch Zayn in case it isn’t the same as it used to be, Harry digs his thumbs into Zayn’s hip bones.

“Christ,” Zayn laughs, air blowing over Harry’s forehead. He pulls back and Harry follows, rolling on top of Zayn until they’re chests are together and their legs are tangled. Harry can feel where Zayn’s hard.

“I wanna suck you off,” Harry whispers.

“We don’t have time.”

“Please,” Harry kisses down Zayn’s body until he’s dipping his tongue into Zayn’s belly button. “I just want a taste.” Harry looks up as innocently as he can, widening his eyes and jutting out his lower lips.

Zayn’s hips jump against Harry’s chest, hard-on bumping against Harry. “I won’t last.”

“I don’t care.” Harry nuzzles against the tiny smatter of hair leading from Zayn’s navel to the top of his boxers.

Zayn’s hand bats Harry’s face away to squeeze himself through his boxers. “Yeah. Fuck,” Zayn tosses that arm over his face.

Harry kisses the edge of Zayn’s boxers one last time. He’s buzzing with energy at the thought of finally seeing Zayn in all his naked glory. He ought to say thank you or something. He’s just about to when Amara bursts into the room.

Zayn pushes Harry off him and sits up immediately. He covers them with the duvet just as Amara jumps onto the bed. Harry’s cheeks burn red.

“What did we say about entering daddy and baba’s bedroom?” Zayn asks. Harry’s too mortified to breath.

“Knock.” Amara wiggles between them. Harry very carefully keeps his hips away from her squirming limbs.

“What did you do?” Harry asks this time.

“Just came in,” she shrugs.

“Next time you have to knock, okay?” Zayn says, smoothing her frizzy hair out of her face.

Amara sighs like she’s put out. Harry definitely knows the feeling. “But I had something important to tell you,” she whines.

Harry and Zayn share a look over the top of her head.

“What was it?” Harry pokes her in the side.

“Um…” Amara looks between her parents before shrugging. “I don’t remember anymore! Can we have pancakes for breakfast?”

Harry catches Zayn’s eye. “Yes. Now go wake your sister.”

Amara’s off like a rocket and out of the room before Harry can say much more.

“When did our daughter become the devil?” Harry asks, burying his face in Zayn’s chest. Just the smell of his husband turns Harry on.

“I told you we didn’t have time,” Zayn laughs.

“I want you,” Harry says, nipping at Zayn’s warm skin.

“We can’t now, you promised pancakes.” Zayn strokes Harry’s hair off his burning face. Harry rolls his hips into the bed, seeking any kind of friction. “Go take a shower, cool off.”

“All I ever do is wank in the shower,” Harry pouts. Any hope of persuading Zayn is blown out the window when Zayn just laughs at his pain.

“Use a toy.”

Harry flushes an even deeper shade of red at the mention of their drawer. Harry hadn’t asked and until now Zayn hasn’t brought it up.

“I – Zayn.” Harry says helplessly, rutting against the sheets.

“I know you saw them, you’re too nosy not to have looked.”

Harry whines, a low pitched sound that’s keen and desperate. He feels his husband’s laugh vibrate against his chest, light and airy like he knows the effect he has on Harry.

“Soon, okay? Take a shower.” He pecks the top of Harry’s head before rolling out of bed.

~

Gemma shows up a day later as Harry’s wiping felt pen off of Mady’s hands. He lets go of the stern grip he had on her wrist and promptly looks at Zayn with fearfully large eyes.

“Go get it,” Zayn tells him, kissing the top of Harry’s head before going to the kitchen.

Harry races to the door before he can let his nerves get the better of him.

“Hey,” Gemma greets, taking the initiative to hug Harry as soon as he opens the door before he can question if he’s allowed.

He gives her a tight hug and a watery hello in return before running his hands through her now blonde hair. It’s cropped to her chin and she’s got dark eyebrows with light purple lipstick on. She looks the same, but so different Harry nearly has a heart attack.

“Tea? Are you hungry? Where are all your bags?”

“I'm staying with a mate. And I ate at hers, thanks.”

“Do you want tea? Zayn’s got a kettle boiling.”

Gemma nods, bangs falling from where they were tucked behind her ear.

It’s a bit of an awkward silence. Harry tries to narrow down his questions to the ones he wants to ask the most.

“Can I see the kids then?”

Harry nods a bit choppy. He hadn’t intended for it to be quite as uncomfortable as it is. Still, he leads her to the family room. Amara’s colouring in a picture Zayn drew of her while Mady’s scribbles on a blank piece of paper.

“Girls,” Harry’s voice shakes. He can’t believe Gemma’s here. “Remember how we talked about daddy having a sister?” Amara nods her head, still doodling. “Well, this is Aunty Gemma.”

Amara puts down her crayons and Mady shoves hers in her mouth. Harry picks her up hastily, removing the purple wax from her fingers. Madeline whines and kicks her tiny feet, flopping in Harry’s arms so she can reach for the table.

He bounces her undeterred. “Can you say hi to Aunty Gem?”

“Hi Aunty Gem, I'm Amara. I'm four.”

Gemma crouches down so she’s closer to Amara’s height. “Four? That’s quite old.”

“Mhmm,” Amara hums proudly, getting her to feet. “I'm a big girl. I go to summer camps.”

“Oh wow. You’re very lucky.”

Amara’s doe eyes turn serious as she nods. “I can pee by myself too. Mady can’t do that yet.”

Gemma’s lips twist in the familiar way Harry’s missed. His memories of her feel so far away while he looks at the woman in front of him. She’s nearly thirty. “She can’t? Well you’ve got to teach her! That’s what big sisters are for.” Gemma pokes Amara in the stomach and she giggles.

“I’ll get baba.”

“Can I hold her?” Gemma asks, gesturing for Mady.

“Do you want to say hi to Aunty Gem?” Harry coos. “Huh? You want to?” Mady’s chubby arms reach out for Gemma. Her fingers close around Gemma’s shiny gold necklace.

Gemma coos an appropriate amount at Mady, rocking her side to side.

“Y’look good like that,” Harry tells her, stroking Madeline’s hair back. “This is Mady and she’s almost two.”

“God, they’re beautiful. I see their pictures, but it’s not-” Gemma cuts herself off. “I never thought I’d get to meet them.”

Harry smiles a bit sadly at that.

“I want up to!” Amara cries as she runs back into the room. She tugs on the end of Gemma’s shirt and hops around impatiently.

“No tugging,” Zayn tells her before wrapping his arms around Gemma in an easy hug. “Sorry we’re trying to teach her manners, but she forgets that she can’t just demand things and get her way. Hi.”

“Hello Zayn. Looking good as always.”

“Are you flirting with my husband?” Harry says faux-scandalized.

“He’s very good looking I don’t know why he’s with you.”

Zayn laughs brightly, swinging an arm around Harry’s shoulders. Amara hops in front of them with her arms up like her sister does. Harry picks her up with an exaggerated sigh before kissing her nose lightly.

They drink tea and Amara tells Gemma about her football camp and tap classes. She shows her what a shuffle is and how to do a flap even though Harry’s sure she gets them mixed up. He still claps wildly and sneakily hands her a biscuit. Amara’s shining as the center attention. Madeline seems content to be curled up in Gemma’s arms, finger hooked into one of her bracelets.

“Okay girls,” Harry says when he takes in how Mady’s fallen asleep in Gemma’s lap. “Time for bed.”

“No,” Amara whines. “I want to stay up.”

“I don’t think so kiddo,” Harry ruffles her hair. “You have football tomorrow with your friends.”

“I don’t want to go. I want to spend time with Aunty Gem!” She screams, crossing her arms over her chest. She slumps down in her seat and frowns.

Embarrassed, Harry tries to think of the best way to get her in bed without Gemma thinking he’s an incompetent parent. He doesn’t want to threaten her with taking away a marble. It’s already past her bedtime.

“Mar, come with me,” Zayn says. When Amara opens her mouth and is about to shriek, no doubt, he gives her a stern look. “Show Aunty Gem that you can be a big girl. Let’s go.”

Amara sighs but gives Gemma a tight hug. She drags her feet over to Harry and hugs him without looking at him. “Can I have a kiss?”

Amara puckers her lips and smacks them against Harry’s before running up the stairs. Zayn takes Madeline from Gemma and gives Harry a kiss on the cheek before following Amara up the stairs.

Harry watches them go with an inexplicable fondness. When he faces Gemma it’s with a sense of dread.

“So,” Gemma says, wrapping her hands around her mug. “Banged yourself up a little bit did ya?”

“Yeah,” Harry scratches at the back of his neck. He’s starting to sweat and its times like these that he’s thankful he’s tied his hair up. “I had to hear from Liam what had happened between us. Mum wasn’t too pleased with me asking about you.”

“I can imagine,” Gemma rolls her eyes. “So you know now? It was pretty ugly.”

Harry nods. “It was because mum was being stubborn right? She didn’t want to come to the wedding and you said you were more of a mother than she was.”

“Something like that, yeah. It was so long ago, over three years and I just… I don’t hold it against you, you know, but we don’t talk anymore, we’re not in each other’s lives.”

“But we could be. I want to be.”

Gemma smiles sadly. “My life isn’t in one place right now. Most of the places I travel to don’t even have Wi-Fi.”

“It’s 2019, surely there are.”

“There are, but not a lot. I can’t make any promises, but I’d like to try.” It feels like an olive branch and Harry latches on.

“Okay. So where have you been? Let’s hear it.” Harry takes an eager sip of tea before shuffling around the kitchen. He reaches to the highest shelf to grab Zayn and his package of chocolate dipped biscuits.

“I fucked off to Peru to get away from mum. Spent some time backpacking, but didn’t think about the long term consequences of being away from England and ran out of money pretty fast. I went around South and Central America working odd jobs before it occurred to me that I hadn’t seen you for over half a year and I ought to check in.”

Gemma picks at her nail polish. “I tried calling mum and got a proper bullocking from her; stuff about being cut from the will and how you had such a great relationship with her then-”

“We didn’t,” Harry cuts in.

“Oh I know.” Gemma laughs. “I spent some time as a makeup artist with a band that was touring in the states then ended up in Africa and spent nearly a year in Egypt.”

“That’s amazing Gem. I wish I could have gone with you or something.”

Gemma shakes her head, breaking a biscuit in two and eating the side with the most chocolate. “You have a great life Harry. You have a husband who loves you, two kids who already have so many of your mannerisms. You were made for this.”

“Well, maybe I don’t wish I could have gone with you. Just like, visited or something. Talked to you.”

“We can start that now,” Gemma offers.

“I’d love that.”

“Good.” She pauses. “I want you to know that I don’t hold any of the past against you. When I got that email from you I had all these scenarios running through my mind and I called as soon as I knew though. The Wi-Fi is really shitty and I only have an iPad because a phone is too expensive.”

“Don’t worry about it, I believe you.” Harry takes a good look at his sister; the sad look in her watery eyes. She’s as strong as the girl he knew growing up, but she’s hardened by the drama. He still has a ton of questions to ask her, but all he wants to do is make sure that they’re relationship is salvageable.

“I don’t really understand how we came to this point in our lives, but I don’t want that again. I want you to be in Amara and Mady's lives. Even if it’s through Skype calls with shoddy connections.”

“I’d love that.” Gemma tucks both her legs underneath herself until she’s sitting cross legged on the chair. “Do you remember when mum and dad first started fighting?” Harry tries to remember when that was, but his earliest memories of his parents are tainted with arguments. “You were probably Amara’s age and I went to the little store by our house and got these little stick-on stars that glow in the dark. I stuck them to your ceiling after dinner and I remember lying beside you staring at the glowing stars.”

“I don’t remember that at all,” Harry hates to admit. He can picture it perfectly – it must have been when he had his little bowl cut and Gemma was going through her sailor moon phase.

“You were young. Mum saw them in the morning and made me take them down. I cried.” Gemma tilts her head back until she’s looking at the ceiling. “God, she’s such a bitch.”

Harry snorts, tension dissipating completely. He spots Zayn, warily stepping into the kitchen. “Everything alright?” He asks with his hands up and an apprehensive smile.

He slides a chair as close to Harry as it will go and rests his head on his shoulder. Amara threw a fit before Zayn read her the bedtime story and now Zayn’s got to take a whopping three marbles out. It will no doubt cause a massive scene in the morning, but for now Harry just wants to sit with his arm around his husband listening to his sister recount stories of her travels.

~

Sophia gives birth on a rainy Saturday, just after Gemma’s been dropped off at the airport. It’s damp and July is passing before all of their eyes.

Liam calls them panicking that he’s dropping David and Chloe off at four in the morning. Harry throws on some pants and a proper shirt before setting up cushions and blankets in the family room so they have somewhere to sleep.

It’s not until after a day filled with baking cake and watching Frozen twice through, two naps and heart-shaped peanut butter sandwiches, that Liam calls Zayn to announce the birth of their daughter Taryn. Sophia’s exhausted after being in labour for seventeen hours and Liam’s crying tears of joy.

When the kids are to be collected, Chloe throws a proper strop. She cries and screeches when Liam shows up. He has dark circles under his eyes and smells like he needs a shower, so Harry sends him home with a pat on the back and no children.

“S’kinda nice having so many kids in the house,” Harry comments while doing the washing up. Zayn’s sitting on the counter swinging his legs, being overall useless now that the children are pretending to be robots in the other room.

“Yeah. Four kids all under five… joy.”

“The age thing is a little much,” Harry agrees, placing the dish he was rinsing in the drying rack. “But four is a good number.”

Zayn hopes off the counter and presses Harry against the cupboards. There’s water seeping into the back of Harry’s jeans and he Zayn’s clutching his hips hard enough to bruise, but with the thought of extending their family and Zayn’s lips on his own – there’s nothing more he wants.

~

“Harry, get a move on!” Zayn hollers from the bottom of the stairs.

He’s been locked in their bedroom for the past ten minutes trying to psych himself up. He’s made a bacon chicken casserole with extra marinara and parmesan cheese; the exact way Zayn said Louis liked it.

It’s been three months since Harry’s accident and the summer is rapidly winding down to a close. Harry feels no closer to Louis than he had a month ago. Group chats and the occasional pub night hasn’t allowed Harry the connection he’s been hoping for with Louis and it’s frustrating as all hell trying to talk to Louis when he’s still going out of his way to be a dick to Harry.

Zayn’s constant reassurances that Louis holds no grudges against him do little to qualm Harry’s woes.

“I'm serious Harry. By the time you get over there, he’ll have already started his supper.”

Harry sighs, buttoning up one more button his sheer shirt. He has grown quite fond of the way they show off his chest and his pecs.

“You look hot,” Zayn says, smiling into a kiss.

“Have to impress him, don’t I?” Harry hooks his forefingers into Zayn’s belt loops and tugs him closer.

“Not too much, thanks. I’d like you to come home at some point.”

“Maybe. Or maybe I’ll seduce him with my casserole. Maybe he’ll be distracted by the food and forget that he hates me.”

“He doesn’t-”

Harry kisses Zayn to shut him up. It’s entirely effective.

“Say bye-bye to daddy! You won’t see him until tomorrow.”

“You’re leaving?” Amara asks, shuffling over with her Elsa doll in her hand.

“Only for one night. I'm going to see Uncle Lou and Beckham.”

Amara throws her doll to the ground. “I want to see Beckham!”

“You can’t baby, not tonight.”

Amara’s eyes well up, betrayed. Harry shares a glance with his husband. He shouldn’t have said anything at all.

“You’re going to have so much fun with baba and Mady. You’re going to paint each other’s nails and then tomorrow you can paint mine too, alright?”

Amara’s lips wobble, but she nods nonetheless. “Okay.”

“Okay, love you,” Harry tells her, kissing her on the forehead. She repeats it back to him with a frown. He kisses Mady next who is all too pleased to be smothered in kisses, even if it means her father’s leaving.

“See you tonight,” Zayn says, leaning in for a kiss of his own.

Harry winks, sliding on the oven mitts to take hold of the casserole.

He plugs in an earphone as he walks to Louis’ place. He’s never been, Siri directing him through the short ten minute walk.

The stairs up to Louis’ front door are daunting. Objectively, there should be nothing frightening about approaching his house and offering a peaceful casserole. Zayn had kissed Harry quiet when he voiced his apprehension, but it doesn’t stop Harry’s throat from clenching and heart from racing.

The casserole is warm underneath his oven mitts despite the walk over. He’ll probably need to reheat it or something – or tell Louis to reheat it since he doesn’t know if he’ll be invited in for dinner.

“Are you going to ring the doorbell or stand outside like a creep all night?”

Harry’s head snaps up at Louis’ words. He’s got his head stuck out the second story window.

“My hands are full,” Harry says, lifting the casserole in his arms.

Louis’ head disappears and the window slams shut in his departure. Harry thinks about turning around and heading back home – to a husband who would be more than willing to eat his casserole and two girls who would give him kisses until he felt better – but then Louis is opening the front door and gesturing for Harry to come in.

“You scared Beckham half to death with your lurking.”

“Is he home?” Harry asks excitedly.

“Obviously. But I told him to hide in his room.” Louis scratches at the scruff growing in around his chin. His hair has grown long and messy since Harry first met him and he’s in sweatpants and a pink speckled shirt. He eyes the casserole suspiciously. “What’s that?”

“A casserole. It’s Wednesday and you said I used to bring you casseroles on Wednesdays so… here I am.”

Louis peeks under the aluminum foil. “What kind?”

“Chicken with extra cheese.”

“Well come on then, we’ve got to heat it up.”

Harry toes off his boots before following Louis into the kitchen. His feet are cold against the tile in Louis’ chilly apartment, but Louis looks cozy in the socks he has hiked up over the bottom of his joggers.

“I guess you’re looking for an apology,” Louis says once he’s got a steaming cup of tea in front of him and a cup of coffee for Harry.

Harry startles, clacking his spoon against the edge of his cup from Louis’ tone.

“Fuck, that didn’t come out right. I owe you an apology. I guess,” Louis corrects. He looks small across the table, like he’s having a hard time finding his words. “Zayn’s my best mate and by association so are you. I was overly mean to you and childish.” Louis rolls his eyes, but this time Harry knows that it’s more to himself than to Harry.

Louis pushes his long hair from his face and doesn’t establish eye contact. “I'm petty. I know I am.Eleanor’s told me well enough. And I guess, no I know, that I took it out on you. I don’t like being left and it felt like you had abandoned me. You didn’t remember me and I was so mad that you couldn’t.”

“I couldn’t remember anyone, really.”

“You remembered Nick.” Louis sounds just as bitter as he had all those months ago. “It hurt to see Zayn like that. He was weak in a way I’ve never seen him before and I took it out on you. I should have taken your feelings into consideration.”

Louis is silent long enough for Harry to know that’s all he’s going to get. “Thank you. I didn’t come here for an apology necessarily. I wanted to fix whatever was going on between us and hang out like we normally would.”

“I know,” Louis sighs. He finally looks up at Harry and there’s something warm beneath his blue eyes. “I missed this, y’know. I lash out on people I care about, I can’t help it. Growing up as the only boy amongst fifty sisters made me a drama queen of sorts.”

“You don’t say,” Harry drawls. Louis shoots him a sharp glare. “I also want to thank you though, for being honest with me. Even though you were passive aggressive as shit,” Louis kicks Harry under the table, “I really have you to thank for kicking my arse into moving in with Zayn.”

“Well someone needed to get you to do something. I couldn’t let you both be mopey shits forever. Besides, you’d still be living with Liam if it wasn’t for me and I know how women get in their last month of pregnancy, super horny.”

“You’re disgusting,” Harry laughs, shaking his head. “Go get Beckham. I like him better.”

Beckham is a fire cracker of energy. He bounces off the walls more often than usual and shows Harry his ninja moves. He karate chops Harry’s thigh and attempts to round house kick him in the shin. Beckham talks excitedly about what he did with Amara and David at school while Louis strokes his hair then he scarfs down the first bite of his casserole so fast that he burns his tongue and he starts to cry. Louis gets him an ice cube to suckle on, then turns to Harry and says, “Dramatics run in the family.”

For all Louis’ callous exterior, he’s tender and gentle with Beckham. He sits him on his lap and bobbles his leg to make his son laugh. He presses kisses into Beckham’s unruly hair and soothes him until Beckham is calm enough to try to eat his supper again.

“Did we thank Uncle Haz for bringing us food?”

Beckham’s smile breaks over his face shyly. “Thank you Uncle Haz.” It comes out sounding more like ‘dank hoo” than anything else and Harry finds himself completely endeared.

“You’re welcome Becks.”

“I really do appreciate it Haz.”

“My pleasure. Maybe I can do it again next week? I can pick him up from football camp and watch him.”

Louis grins, scooping another heap of food onto his plate. “That’d be sick.”

Harry stays to read Beckham a bedtime story then has a beer with Louis. They talk about their university days and a bit more about Louis’ arrangement with Eleanor. He gets Monday night through Thursday morning with the occasional weekend visit much to Louis’ displeasure. Eleanor’s started a fashion company with a friend he suspects she’s sleeping with and it hurts Harry to see the way Louis’ face clouds over and his words get pinched.

“There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about,” Harry brings up when it’s about time to go home.

“What’s that?”

“Amara mentioned that you had called me a wanker in front of her.”

“It wasn’t in front of her.”

Harry digs his hands into his pockets. “She still heard it.”

“Well then sorry. I won’t say it again in your house, but I thought she was asleep. She’s sneaky.”

“She is,” Harry agrees.

“But you are a bit of a wanker.” Louis face is serious at first, but then breaks into a grin. He smacks Harry on the bicep an ounce too hard, but it’s not on purpose, that much Harry can tell.

“Ha. Look who’s talking, Lewis.” Harry smirks properly, feeling like he’s got the upper hand. Their laughter fades until their just staring at each other grinning, as good a time as ever to part ways. “I should go.”

“Right, don’t want to keep the hubby waiting.” Louis darts in for a hug. It throws Harry off center for a moment. “Hug me back,” Louis demands when Harry’s still too stunned to do anything.

Harry brings his arms up slowly, as if Louis’ the spooked animal instead of him.

“I know I’ve said this a million times, but you are really lucky to have Zayn.”

“I know,” Harry agrees.

“No, I mean… He’s stuck by you through all the shit you’ve put him through and he still talks about you like you’ve hung the moon. He loves you a lot Haz.”

“I know,” Harry says again. He scratches at the hole at the knee of his jeans. “I really think I could love him, properly, again.”

“Good. Now go home and make sweet, sweet love to your poor sex deprived husband.”

Immediately, Harry freezes. “He hasn’t said anything, has he? About… that? Because I'm tryi-”

Louis’ face twists into one of pure disgust. “No! God, ew. I don’t want to hear about this, Jesus.”

“Sorry,” Harry squeaks, red in the cheeks. “Sorry, I’ll head home then.”

“You better.” Louis drags Harry in for one last squeeze. “It was good seeing you Haz.”

“You too Louis, thanks.”

~

Harry creeps into the silent house later than he intended. He had gotten lost on the walk back and had to take an alternative route that left his calves burning.

He sneaks up the stairs and kisses each one of his girls on the forehead. He takes off his shirt and socks before undoing his belt and pushing open the door to his bedroom. Zayn is a lump in the sheets that Harry can’t help but straddle.

“Thought maybe he’d kept you for himself.” Zayn says before Harry has a chance to kiss him.

“Who Louis? He does have an awfully nice bum.”

“Shut up,” Zayn laughs, kissing Harry quiet. “Thought about you all night.”

“Yeah? You just lay here and dream about me?”

“Mhmm,” Zayn shifts under Harry until he’s lying still underneath him. Zayn’s hands skim the sides of Harry’s body. “What did you and Louis talk about?”

“Stuff,” Harry shrugs, puckering his lips against Zayn’s cheek. “Apparently I have a husband who’s horridly sex deprived.” Harry grinds his hips down and smiles at the affronted noise Zayn makes.

“I'm not the one getting off in the shower every morning.”

“It’s not every morning,” Harry argues. Sometimes he doesn’t have time for one or sometimes it takes two to get the edge off.

Zayn’s shirt is off and Harry would put money on the assumption that he’s only in a pair of one of his thin boxers. Harry’s woken up hard with Zayn’s erection poking into the back of his thigh too many times not to know just how thin they are.

Harry scoops his hips, teasing Zayn of what he could do. “The girls are asleep, I checked.”

Zayn snorts. “Good for you.”

“Please Zayn,” Harry pouts. He bats his eyelashes a couple of times though he’s not confident Zayn can see it in this lack of light. “I want to ride you.”

This time Zayn doesn’t laugh at him. His hands snake their way up to Harry’s nipples and he gives them a light flick. Harry’s getting harder by the moment.

“You sure?” Zayn asks, leaning up to give Harry’s butterfly tattoo a kiss.

“Never been more sure of anything,” Harry says sincerely. “Come on, please? Please.” Harry dips down, just barely sucking a mark into Zayn’s collar. “I need it, I’ll explode if you don’t fuck me.”

“Alright,” Zayn huffs as if he’s put off. “Take off your pants then.”

Harry scrambles off of Zayn to do just that. He watches Zayn reach up to turn on the lamp on his side of the bed. Harry wiggles out of his jeans, just barely getting the tight ankles around his heels before taking off his boxers as well. He doesn’t care that he’s coming off as eager; he’s imagined this far too many times to pretend to be coy.

“Play some music too,” Zayn tells Harry as he stretches out.

Harry obliges, feeling his dick bob as he makes his way to his side of the bed. He wants to choose something sexy, but his mind short circuits when he sees the way Zayn’s running his fingertips over his stomach. Hastily, he finds a playlist with the Weeknd’s album artwork as the cover lets his voice crone softly.

Harry hops back onto the bed. He nearly knees Zayn in the balls, but manages to stop himself at the last moment. “Jesus, don’t damage the goods.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. Been waiting too long anyway,” He tugs on Zayn’s arms as Zayn covers his face with his arm and laughs into his elbow. He moves Zayn’s arm out of the way and wraps his hands around Zayn’s neck, pulling him until he’s caging Harry in with his arms. “One day you’re going to explain each of your tattoos to me.”

“Okay,” Zayn nods, capturing Harry’s lips for a kiss.

“God, you’re so hot. Can’t believe you’re mine.” Harry sends Zayn off balance when he reaches for Zayn’s left hand. Zayn seems to understand what Harry’s doing as he holds himself up on his right forearm and let’s Harry inspect the initials tattooed there.

“Who’s writing is this?” Harry asks, tracing the letters on the inside of his fingers. They sit between his first and second knuckle so it can be visible when he wears his ring. Harry’s seen it plenty of times, but never this close.

“You want to know why I got it?” Zayn asks, face serious. “When we got married we wrote our vows on this piece of paper and you signed yours H-E-S. We were getting them framed and I was sitting around thinking what I could do for your wedding present, but nothing seemed good enough and we were short on money so I took your vow with me to get your initials tattooed.”

“God,” Harry wheezes, scraping his nails along Zayn’s scalp. “That’s fucking romantic.”

“It’s forever, like us.”

Harry nods, closing his eyes to wrap his legs around Zayn. He feels so much for him in that moment, so much safety and fondness, and love even. It’s been a difficult three months for them, but Harry does feel it, well and truly, that he loves Zayn. It doesn’t feel right to say it now though, not aloud at least. Not with Zayn working his way down Harry’s neck.

Harry goads Zayn’s lips back to him and they make out for what feels like ages. Harry ignores his cock growing harder. He ignores the music playing softly in the background and focuses everything on Zayn.

Zayn’s beard is trimmed, short hairs that bristle and burn Harry’s skin. He doesn’t think of the beard burn that will result in tiny red scratches or the way it will sting tomorrow. He just wants to feel Zayn all over. He wants to keep hearing Zayn say his name over and over like a prayer.

“Call me jaan,” Harry asks, bucking his hips up.

“Jaan,” Zayn says obediently. He presses a sweet kiss to Harry’s temple. Harry moans in the back of his throat, helplessly going breathless. “Does that get you hard?” He says in disbelief.

Harry nods, closing his eyes to the feel of Zayn’s weight on top of him.

“You’re so easy.”

“I'm so hard,” Harry corrects. “I wanna suck you.”

“Yeah?” Zayn bows his head until he’s licking at Harry’s bottom lip. “Y’gonna have to tie your hair up for that.”

“Okay,” Harry nods. His eyes drop to Zayn’s lips. Harry’s limbs feel shaky as he flips onto his front to get a hair elastic from the table.

“Okay,” Zayn parrots, getting off the bed. Harry stares transfixed at the sight of Zayn taking off his boxers. He does it slowly, maybe a bit for show, before kicking them off from around his feet.

Zayn’s dick is as gorgeous as the rest of him. It curves a bit to the left and is slightly thinner than Harry’s own. It’s just a tad bit shorter, but Harry’s mouth still waters for it. He wants it so bad he doesn’t realize he’s not said anything until Zayn laughs and tilts his chin up with two fingers.

“You good?” Zayn’s got a cocky little smirk. He looks unbearably hot.

“Come kiss me,” Harry says softly.

His hands land on the dip of Zayn’s back. He digs his fingers there before sliding them down to Zayn’s arse. He wonders if he ever gets to fuck Zayn. “Can I suck you off like this?”

“With me on top?” Zayn asks, kneeing his way up towards Harry’s waist. He stops when his knees reach Harry’s armpit.

From this angle, Zayn looks much bigger. He’s a bit wet at the tip, hard and intimidating as Zayn holds it in his fist. He jacks himself off a couple of times, slow and deliberate until he taps the head of his dick against Harry’s lips.

“Look so good,” Zayn tells him, rolling his hips forward so he just barely slides inside Harry’s mouth. Harry lurches forward to take more in, cheeks pink. “Yeah,” Zayn pants when Harry brings both hands to rest on Zayn’s thighs. Zayn makes fast work to adjust a pillow under Harry’s head.

Zayn feeds Harry more of his cock until Harry’s blinking at him heavily. Harry’s abs clench as he holds himself up, widening his mouth for more of Zayn to fit inside.

He has to actively remind himself to keep still, let Zayn do the work while keeping a tight suction around him. Harry watches Zayn focusing on the way his dick looks in Harry’s mouth. He rocks into it, nudging his hips closer until Harry’s swallowed all of him down.

Zayn holds it as Harry breathes harshly through his nose. He rocks down against the bed, squirming his arse into the sheets as he searches for some kind of friction. It’s the opposite of the friction he needs, but it’s something.

When Zayn pulls out, Harry sucks in a deep breath and stares at the ceiling. His chest expands under Zayn’s stomach. “You good?” Zayn asks, wiping the spit from the corner of Harry’s mouth.

“Mmm. Want more.”

Zayn doesn’t go slow as he pushes into Harry’s mouth. He gets lost in the slick suction. Harry’s throat flutters around Zayn’s throat as they work to keep him as deep as he can take.

Harry’s fingers float up to around Zayn’s waist then back down to Zayn’s spread thighs. He can’t help but fervently touch every patch of Zayn’s skin he can get his hands on. It’s hard to focus on anything in particular as Zayn pushes the tip of his thumb into the corner of Harry’s mouth. It closes off what little air supply Harry had there and forces him to stretch his jaw wider.

Zayn cups the back of Harry’s head with his other hand; his pinky rests on the nape of his neck while his thumb nearly reaches the crown of Harry’s head. Harry’s a moaning mess, slurping and sucking as much as he can manage.

“God, I'm gonna come.”

Harry whines in the back of his throat. Zayn looms over him, panting hard as he withdraws his hips. “Want me to finish in your mouth?”

“Yeah.” Harry snakes his tongue out, licking spit off the underside of Zayn’s dick. Harry lets his tongue tease around Zayn, with his mouth wide open and his tongue flat and flicking.

There’s something dirty and so fucking hot about the way Harry’s letting Zayn use his mouth. Harry loves the hooded look to Zayn’s eyes; the flush crawling down to his chest.

“Can you fuck me after?” Harry’s voice is raw, throat sore.

“Course.” Zayn taps his finger against Harry’s cheek and waits for him to open up before sliding back in deep.

Zayn starts to come then, just a few shallow thrusts after Harry had taken him back in. He holds himself up with two hands on the pillow beneath Harry’s head. His hips pulse minutely as he empties himself, a sound rips out of him that Harry doesn’t process until they lock eyes. He rolls over and off, throwing an arm around his face to hide his flush.

Harry doesn’t let him rest for very long. He covers half of Zayn’s chest with his then rubs his nose against Zayn’s beard.

“You’ve killed me,” Zayn moans. There’s sweat on his skin and he smells heavenly.

“No,” Harry whines dramatically. He reaches between Zayn’s legs to hold one of his balls in his hand. “You have to fuck me.”

“I'm dead,” Zayn slides his arm across his face until only his hand is covering it, fingers spread wide so his eyes peek out. When Harry doesn’t do anything other than pout dramatically at Zayn, he rolls his eyes and takes pity on his husband. “Fine,” Zayn sighs even though he’s got a smile twitching at his lips. “Go get the lube then.”

“And a condom,” Harry says dutifully.

“Oh. Oh shit, I don’t think we have any.”

Harry pauses in the middle of the room. Its half past midnight, Harry just gave the blowjob of a lifetime, and all he wants is to be fucked so he can have the best sleep of his life.

“We don’t normally use them. Like, ever, but if you want to, we can, I'm sure there’s one lying around.”

Harry makes his way back to the bed, where Zayn’s looking at him with big, worried eyes. “I trust you if you trust me.”

“Of course I trust you, don’t be ridiculous.”

“Good,” Harry smiles, surging down to connect their lips sloppily. “I’ve never done it bareback. You should come in me.”

“You – oh God. You’re definitely going to kill me.”

Harry practically skips back to their bed once he’s got the lube clutched in his hand. “I want to know what it feels like,” Harry teases, straddling Zayn’s thin hips and grinding down.

“You always complain that it’s too messy after. Cause you have to wash after otherwise it dries.”

Harry’s nose scrunches. “Gross.”

“S’not. Let me come in you.”

Harry crosses his arms over his chest. “I’ve changed my mind now. I don’t want anything to do with your dick.”

Zayn laughs, running his thumbs over Harry’s nipples. “Bit too late for that now, isn’t it.”

“Well I suppose it is, let’s get on with it then.” Harry pecks Zayn sweetly on the cheek before clambering up to his hands and knees.

Zayn circles the rim of Harry’s hole with a slow, dry finger. He dips it in, just a tease, but it’s not enough. Harry pushes back, eager for anything when he hears the lube cap snick open. He feels it a second later; cold lube dribbles down his arse as Zayn spreads it around.

Harry moans high in the back of his throat. It’s needy and pleading. Zayn must take pity on him because he finally pushes a wet finger into him. He runs a hand down Harry’s back, one not slicked with lube, and settles it on Harry’s waist. He holds on tight as he stretches Harry open, getting him ready for another.

Zayn slides a second finger in with the first. It’s tighter and hotter and Zayn taps his fingers against Harry’s waist in an unknown rhythm.

“Wish I could suck you off right now,” Zayn says in a low voice. “But you’d come too soon, wouldn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, collapsing down to his forearms. He fucks back on Zayn’s fingers, rocking and grinding and imagining how good it will feel to properly feel Zayn.

“I love it though. Can’t wait for the boys to take the girls for a day; you don’t even know what I’m going to do to you. We’re magic together.” Zayn punctuates his words by adding a third finger in with the rest. His ring must be covered in lube; Harry wants to suck it off.

“Fuck,” Harry whines, twisting his head to get some deep, ragged breaths to fill his lungs.

Zayn twists his wrist, hitting Harry’s deepest spot. Harry scrambles to clutch the bedsheets, desperate not to come all over them. He manages half a garbled moan before Zayn’s pressing up against it again.

Harry’s cock aches with how long it’s been neglected. He wants to get a hand around it more than anything, but knows he’ll come far too soon.

“Ready?” Zayn kisses Harry’s back, so close to his hole he could cry. He clenches around Zayn’s fingers, drawing him in for a half second longer. “Get on your back.”

“Want to watch me?” Harry asks with a shaky breath. He still sounds more confident than he feels. Inadequacy sits heavy in his bones. He doesn’t turn around.

“‘Course I do.” Zayn withdraws his fingers, wiping them on the side of Harry’s thigh. “You alright?” Zayn sounds concerned, uncertain.

“I’m-” Harry nods, albeit shakily. “What if it’s not good?”

Zayn knees his way to Harry’s side and rests a hand on his shoulder. Harry won’t look up, but he can see Zayn’s hairy knee in his peripheral. “What do you mean? Of course it’s gonna be good.”

Harry shakes his head. “I mean me. What if I – what if it’s not like it was?”

“I don’t care,” Zayn shrugs, pecking the side of Harry’s eye. “How I felt about you six months ago… it’s nowhere close to how I feel about you now.”

“Really?” Harry asks, a wobbly sort of smile on his lips.

“Yeah.”

Harry surges in for a kiss. Zayn’s swift on the uptake. He opens his mouth up easily and let’s Harry guide the kiss. He’s slow and deliberate, tongue lazy. “Hi,” he says when he blinks his eyes open.

“Hey,” Zayn grins. “You good now?”

“Mhmm.” Harry steals one more kiss. He tilts over until he’s on his back, one knee drawn up and a hand around his cock.

Zayn crawls over him instinctually. He knocks Harry’s hand away before grabbing one of his legs and placing Harry’s calf on his shoulder. Harry gasp when Zayn slips two fingers into him, getting him used to the angle.

Harry stares at the ceiling, bass playing a heavy beat as Zayn lines himself up and pushes in all in a breath. Pleasure contorts Harry’s face. He feels heavy and full; satisfied in a way he hasn’t in ages.

“Move, m’ready.”

Zayn nods, licking his lips and scooping Harry’s hips up by his arse. Harry squeaks, hands flying to Zayn’s shoulders so he can ground himself to something. Zayn snaps his hips forward, slowly to begin then quicker with every groan and sigh that leaves Harry’s lips.

Zayn’s brow is furrowed in concentration, chest puffed as he holds in all his breath. “Hey,” Harry says, smoothing the crease between Zayn’s eyebrows. “What did the-”

“Oh my God, you’re not telling a joke right now.” The goofy smile that breaks out on Zayn’s face is instant.

“You haven’t heard it yet! I-”

He leans down and kisses Harry’s lips, sloppy and wet. As if that wasn’t enough to spike Harry’s system, he punctuates it with a proper swivel of his hips.

“Christ, okay. No joke.”

“Thank God.” Zayn kisses away anything else Harry has to say. He further silences him by properly fucking him.

Zayn shifts a bit, sitting back on his calves while dragging Harry along the bed until his arse is on the tops of Zayn’s thighs. He hits a completely different angle this way, building a rhythm that burns deep in Harry’s gut. He feels like a ragdoll, floppy and flailing as his leg falls from Zayn’s shoulder.

Zayn grunts, scratching his thumbnails down Harry’s torso in a skittered line. He flicks Harry’s nipples until they’re hard and Harry is twisting out of the touch. Zayn watches on with a sick little grin until his eyes flash down to Harry’s bobbing cock.

“Want it,” Harry moans, hands falling to the side of his face.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, shit.”

Zayn pulls out and it’s the exact opposite of what Harry wants. He’s empty and loose, hole clenching around nothing. Zayn shuffles away from Harry and grabs a pillow, placing it lengthwise under Harry’s body. It’s soft and fluffy, no doubt about to be ruined by sweat and lube.

Zayn slicks his dick back up, dribbling it on the bedsheets by mistake.

“Don’t make a mess,” Harry chastises, bucking his hips in the hopes of getting some attention.

Zayn uncaps the lube to squirt it just to the left of Harry’s dick so it lands on his stomach. “Dick,” Harry frowns, kneeing Zayn in the side.

The laugh comes out of Zayn abruptly this time, a burst of happiness before he’s grabbing Harry’s chin to kiss.

He pulls back too soon though, to slide back into Harry. They’re faces are close, but they’re not kissing, too focused on quiet sighs and quick hips to manage any form of lip-locking.

Harry’s dick brushes against Zayn’s abdomen on every thrust. It glides against Zayn’s skin, wet from precome and his impending orgasm. Waking up hard, jerking off in the shower, late night snogs resulting in awkwardly placed hips – all of it was worth it to be in this moment with Zayn.

“Come in me,” Harry whispers, tangling his fingers at the nape of Zayn’s neck. “Wanna feel it.”

Zayn nods, dropping his head to Harry’s neck. He nips the skin softly, thrusts going lazy. Harry curls himself around Zayn, legs ankles locking near Zayn’s skinny arse until he’s panting and waiting for Zayn to come.

Zayn moves in tight circles, head lolling to the side as he huffs in Harry’s neck. Harry strokes his back to urge him on, broken moans falling from his lips that he can’t help. When Zayn finally gives in and comes, Harry’s louder than Zayn is. Zayn stills, but Harry can’t help himself from squirming, feeling Zayn empty into him warm and pulsating.

It’s unlike anything he’s ever felt before.

It’s intimate and quiet and Harry feels a wave of emotion pass over him before Zayn’s hand is closing around his dick. It takes an embarrassingly short amount of time before Harry’s gripping Zayn’s arms too tight and heaving in air. He comes on his stomach and a splash on Zayn’s, nothing that would require more than a towel.

They make out for a while with Zayn still inside him. It’s nothing more than exchanges of breath and quiet sounds. Harry feels lovely and his bones feel gooey and he just wants to melt with Zayn forever.

“Will you be awake when I get back from my shower?” Harry asks, running his fingers over the come streaked on his stomach.

“Do you want me to be?”

“Of course,” Harry says leaning in for a kiss. He stays a bit longer than necessary, feeling Zayn out.

“Alright, then I’ll be right here.”

Harry pats Zayn’s thigh as he gets up and out of bed. He runs the water as hot as he can stand and rinses his body before washing his sweaty hair. He makes quick work of washing the come and sweat and soreness from his body before towel drying his hair and wrapping said towel around his waist. He’ll sleep in the nude tonight.

He slips into bed and under Zayn’s arm. He’s still awake, albeit sleepy with the way he lazily kisses Harry.

“Can I ask you something?” Harry whispers into the emptiness of the room. The music’s off and there’s no traffic outside. “What was our first time like?”

“Perfect,” Zayn says without missing a beat.

“Liar,” Harry accuses. He pinches Zayn’s nipple until he grabs Harry’s hand and nips at the tips of his fingers.

“It was,” Zayn argues. “You were determined to bottom and were so sure of yourself. You sucked me off for like ten minutes then came all over yourself before I even put it in you.” Zayn snorts before breaking out into a fit of hysterics too loud for their room.

“I didn’t,” Harry gasps horrified. He pushes at Zayn’s chest until he quiets down.

“Yeah, you like – it was romantic,” Zayn laughs. He pushes Harry’s half dried hair off his face. “You had all these candles set up and were playing this ridiculous playlist that you thought was so sexy. It was in your tiny flat and you seduced me over then dropped to your knees after dinner.”

Harry shakes his head, embarrassed. He can picture it completely.

“You got three fingers in then was scared you wouldn’t last. I remember Marvin Gaye was playing, Let’s Get It On-”

“That’s a lie!” Harry interrupts. “Shut up.”

“It’s true! I had you all stretched out and you were being so loud I thought your neighbours were going to complain. So I put on a condom and get lined up and just as I'm about to slide in, you came all over yourself.”

Harry buries his face into the sheets, embarrassment zipping through him. “Stop,” he whines.

“It was cute. You made it up to me.”

“Yeah? How?”

Zayn grips Harry’s hip in his hand, pulling him close until he kiss him on the lips. Zayn’s lips are so smooth, so soft, and when he slides his hands down to Harry’s bum and squeezes, Harry shudders. “How about I show you tomorrow?”

“God, yeah.” Harry tangles his fingers in the bedsheets by Zayn’s head and loses himself in Zayn’s kisses.

~

Harry’s dancing with Madeline in the family room when he first notices it.

She’s grabbing at his hands, wanting to be swung and flipped and thrown when he sets her down to take a breather and notices that a beautiful, black and silver ring is no longer sitting around his wedding finger. He’s got a tan around it – something he had not noticed while it was on – and it sends anxiety rippling up his stomach. Harry reckons he’s never taken it off until now.

He swallows back the feeling he feels creeping up his throat and sets Madeline right side up on her feet.

She toddles off to wiggle in front of the television while Harry runs up to his bedroom and searches frantically. He looks in the cabinets and into the sink, in all the drawers in the bathroom and under the bed. He searches through the laundry basket that has come stained boxers in it and opens the drawer to his bedside table.

He passes a still dancing Mady to look around the kitchen and in the waste bin with his heart in his throat and tears in his eyes. With a frantic desperateness, he calls Liam.

“Code Red,” Harry says in lieu of a hello, “I’ve lost my wedding ring. Have you seen it?”

“You don’t even live here Harry, how would I have seen it?”

“When we came by to see the baby, she was sucking my fingers. Oh my God, do you think she’s swallowed it?”

“Harry, there’s no way she swallowed your ring. You probably left it when you went to Niall’s to meet his new girlfriend.”

“Ah!” Harry has an epiphany then. He did the dishes after the girls fell asleep in Niall’s room. It’s probably around the sink. “Thanks Li!”

Niall doesn’t pick up the first time, so Harry watches Madeline from the doorway and calls him again.

“The fuck do you want? I'm busy,” Niall greets

“I’ve lost my wedding ring-” He’s abruptly cut off by Niall’s loud laughter.

Frustrated by Niall’s lack of sympathy, Harry calls the last person he can think of.

“Oh you fucked up,” Louis says with no trace of sympathy. “I won’t tell Zayner you lost the one thing he splurged on though!”

“Louis,” Harry whines, rubbing his stomach.

“I'm kidding! Sort of. Just talk to him.”

“You’re no help,” Harry tells him.

There’s a loud crash followed by louder crying on Louis’ end of the line. “Whoops! Beckham just knocked something over… See ya Haz!”

Guilt eats him away.

Zayn doesn’t mention it and neither does Harry. The first day feels like a year as Harry makes sure to do everything with his right hand. He serves dinner with his right hand, high fives Amara with his right hand, he even makes sure that Zayn’s on the right side of him when they do the washing up.

The second day, Harry offers to wash the dishes again and shoves his hand in the water when Zayn comes in to check on him. Zayn kisses him on the cheek sweetly and swats him on the bum before gathering the girls for a bath. Harry leans against the counter with his head in his hands for a while.

They don’t have sex every night – much to Harry’s displeasure – so lying in bed and talking had given him the opportunity to hide his left hand at all times. He’s still nervous that Zayn’s going to call him out on it, but he never does. He kisses the palm of Harry’s right hand and intertwines their fingers until they part with a long kiss turn off their lamps.

Which is why Harry pulls away from Zayn when he starts to grind their hips together under the covers.

“Everything alright?” Zayn asks, hooking his fingers into Harry’s waistband. Harry tracks the movement, catching the way Zayn’s ring shines in the moonlight.

“M’tired.”

“Too tired to get your dick sucked?” Zayn asks, snapping the elastic against Harry’s skin.

“Yeah. Long day.”

“Alright,” Zayn leans in for a kiss, visibly wary. “You’d tell me if anything was wrong right?”

“Of course.”

“Okay. Okay, c’mere.” Zayn says, eyelashes fanning his unfairly perfect cheekbones. Harry leans into Zayn’s chest, sighing when their lips touch.

“I really am tired. Maybe tomorrow though?”

“Don’t make us one of those couples. We’re not going to schedule our sex.” Zayn giggles into the next kiss and for a moment it feels like everything’s going to work out.

~

“Holy fuck mate, this is like really expensive.”

“Yes Niall I know. Thanks for being useless.” Harry combs a hand through his hair, shaking out the knots at the end. “Are you sure this is the one?” Harry asks although he already knows.

The sales woman nods her head. She doesn’t look in the least bit sympathetic. Her pant suit fits her like a glove and her hair is neatly straightened. Her eyeliner is a bit smudged underneath her eyes, but her lipstick is perfectly lined.

“And you’re sure this is the price.”

“Christ Harry, just buy the ring or tell Zayn what’s really going on.”

“It’s a lot Ni,” Harry frowns. He places the ring back on the display case. It’s the exact same as the one Zayn got him, but without the sentimental value. A wave of unease flows through him as Harry thinks about buying it. Zayn would surely see the purchase in their bank statement. He can’t afford to spend nearly two thousand pounds without an excuse.

“I think you better just tell him,” Niall says sadly. He wraps an arm reassuringly around Harry’s shoulders and pets the top of his head.

The woman gives them a sour expression. “I can give 5% off, but that is it.”

“That’s less than tax, don’t do it Harry.”

She places the ring back in its display spot before locking the case up tight. With a none-too-subtle glance at the couple behind them, they get the hint.

Harry leaves the jewelry with a pit in his stomach and sweaty palms.

~

They do yoga on Saturday in the park again.

Amara doesn’t lead the practice and by the time Harry’s kissing their foreheads to thank them for coming to their mat, Zayn’s eyes are closed and he’s snoring softly.

“Should we wake baba up with smoochies?” Harry whispers, passing them their juice boxes.

Madeline nods with wide brown eyes. Amara mimics her sister before clutching one of Harry’s hands. “One…” they take a step forward, just toeing at the end of the picnic blanket Zayn’s sprawled out on, “two…” Mady giggles and Amara is quick to shush her, “three!” Harry shouts, watching his girls pounce on Zayn.

Amara supports herself by falling on Zayn’s chest and kissing his chin while Mady busies herself with smooching all over Zayn’s forehead. Zayn flaps his arms around and kicks his feet. He screams high pitched, animated enough that the girls don’t think he’s joking until he’s wrapping his arms around them and sitting up.

They’re giggling so loud Harry reckons that families are glancing their way.

“Who’s idea was this?” Zayn asks, tickling his girls.

“Daddy’s!” They shout.

Harry gasps, clutching his chest and falling to his knees. “I’ve been betrayed!” Madeline toddles over, knee digging into Harry’s liver.

She smacks a fist against Harry’s cheek until he opens his eyes. “I need a kiss! From the prettiest princesses and a handsome king! A Malik!”

He catches Zayn’s teasing eye roll.

Mady smacks a loud kiss on his cheek. Amara lifts one of his hands off his stomach and peppers that with kisses. Zayn’s just making his way over on his hands and knees when Amara sits on his stomach and accusingly asks, “Daddy where’s your ring?”

Immediately, Harry stills. “Uh. Daddy left it at home.” He steadfastly refuses to look in Zayn’s eyes.

“But why?” Amara pushes, threading their fingers together. She has the wide eyed innocence of a child, genuinely curious as to why he’s not wearing his ring. Harry doesn’t want to answer.

Instead, he stares at their joined hands; hers is not even as big as his palm. “Because daddy didn’t want it to get lost in the park.”

“But why?”

“Mar do you want some almonds?” Zayn asks, saving Harry.

Harry doesn’t look over at Zayn. His cheeks are hot with nervousness. He gathers Madeline’s squirming body into his arms and flattens her along the length of his torso. She gets distracted by snapping Harry’s headband against his forehead.

Amara doesn’t say anything more about his wedding band for the rest of the park visit. Madeline picks weeds out of the grass and twirls around and Harry ensures that one of them is always with him as a buffer. He tires himself out running after them and playing dog, barking until his lungs hurt and he can pretend that the feeling in his stomach is from laughter.

~

“Can I talk to you?”

Harry’s fresh out of the shower, grass stains washed down the drain along with shampoo suds and a coconut exfoliator.

It’s the moment he’s been dreading all day; when Zayn confronts him and expresses his betrayal and anger.

“Uh, suppose so. What’s up?” Harry tilts his head upside down, scrubbing his hair dry.

“It’s about your wedding ring.”

“What about it?” Harry asks, stilling.

“Can you come right side up for this?”

When Harry does, Zayn’s on one knee.

“Zayn-” Harry says, eyes wide and worried. He’s naked for Christ’s sake and Zayn’s down on a knee. Did Zayn notice a few days ago and buy him a new ring?

Zayn presents him with a ring the exact same as the one he had before.

“No,” Harry says, shaking his head immediately. “Tell me you didn’t.” Zayn’s smiling, but it’s – God, it breaks Harry’s heart. “I don’t need a new one, I swear. I’ll find it Zayn, I promise.”

“What?” Zayn’s perfect, beautiful, even eyebrows scrunch together. “What are you talking about?”

Tears well up in Harry’s eyes. “I lost the ring. I lost it and I couldn’t find it and you got me a new one. It’s expensive Zayn, I checked. I'm gonna find it, I swear.”

Zayn stands up in an instant, hands closing over Harry’s where they’re covering his face.

“It’s not – this is your ring.” When Harry doesn’t budge, Zayn adds, “I took it.”

“You what?”

“I took it. A week ago, you were asleep.”

“I-” Harry pushes Zayn’s shoulder sending the ring fumbling from his hands.

Harry scurries to pick it up, but Zayn snatches it from his hands. “Let me do this again.”

As Zayn starts to get to his knees, Harry picks his towel off the ground and wraps it around his waist. “This isn’t funny,” Harry tells him.

“I'm not joking.”

“I felt guilty, you asshole.”

“Don’t call me an asshole, I'm being romantic.”

Harry shuts up, right hand flying to his mouth when Zayn presents him with the ring again.

“I'm serious Zayn-”

“Shut up. Let me propose.”

Harry stares transfixed.

“I love you. I never stopped and I never will and I don’t care if it’s too soon for me to say it out loud. These past few months have just reaffirmed how much I love you.” Zayn holds the ring up a little higher. “Let’s start over. Let’s have the wedding you deserve. On a golf course or somewhere stupidly expensive and invite everyone. You can make a colour scheme and we can get fucking swatches and you can bake the fucking cake yourself. Mar and Mady can be flower girls and you can pick out my tux. We’ll do all that shit we never did before and I’ll complain the entire time, but secretly love it.” Zayn takes a deep breath, holding Harry’s left hand when he offers it.

“So let’s get married. Marry me. I love you.”

He’s barely wearing a towel around his waist and he’s crying without permission. He doesn’t remember much of the past six years of his life, but he knows he has a family who loves him and friends who support him and at the end of the day he has a husband who will hold his hand through anything.

“Yes,” Harry says immediately. Harry watches Zayn slip the ring onto his finger. It sits even more perfect than it did before. Harry’s eyes well up without his permission as Zayn’s wavering smile turns bright and ecstatic. “Yes, Christ. I love you.”

“I want to wear black. You look better in white anyway and we can get Mady and Amara in matching dresses. I want doves and feathers, lots of flowers on every table and I want a blue and silver colour scheme. Liam will be my best man and Louis can be yours but Niall-”

“Shut up,” Zayn says before kissing him.

Harry chokes; half a laugh and half a sob – there’s nothing he’d rather do.

- _ **fin**_ -

**Author's Note:**

> It's done!!! Thank you to everyone that has read it and messaged me and made edits :) my heart is so warm and full of gratitude!  
> Special thanks to my beta [kay](http://zaynhabibi.tumblr.com/)for your constant support and early morning messages!! Thanks for pushing me to write better and for always inspiring me with ideas :)  
> If you liked it hit me up on [tumblr](http://vinoharry.tumblr.com/ask), come tweet me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/vinoharryx) comment below, and/or like/share [the fic page](http://vinoharry.tumblr.com/post/125530485398) !!


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